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REFINING FIRES 


A NOVEL 


BY 

ALICE DBASE 


P. J. KENEDY & SONS 
New York 



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Copyright, iqi 6, 

P. J. Kenedy & Sons 
New York 


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FEB151SI? 

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©CI.A455571 

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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Madame Mauvoisin’s Visitor . i 

II. A Mother's Pride i6 

III. The De Barli Home .... 27 

IV. Their Daughter's Visit ... 37 

V. Raoul's Dependence .... 49 

VI. The Outcasts 61 

VII. The Angel OF Mercy . ... 71 

VIII. The Absconder's Rescue . . . 83 

IX. Mademoiselle Fanny .... 92 

X. New Friendship 103 

XL An Unpleasant Discussion . . iii 

XII. A Welcome Proposal .... 122 

XIII. For Human Respect .... 130 

XIV. The Album . 137 

XV. The Gambler 143 

XVI. Misgivings 150 

XVII. De Charolles Comes and Goes 153 

XVIII. Mystery 160 

XIX. The Stranger 167 

XX. Illness 178 

XXL Raoul Questions 1911 

XXII. Raoul Sees Lozares .... 205 

XXIII. Ruin 210 

XXIV. A Legacy 218 

XXV. ANoteFromLucienne’sFather 222 

XXVI. A Noble Revenge 226 

XXVII. Twelve Months Later . . . 233 



REFINING FIRES 


I 

u 

^ CHAPTER I 

MADAME MAUVOISIN'S TISITOE 

Thursday was Madame Mauvoisin’s “At 
Home” day, and her beautiful apartment in 
the Rue Lafayette was prepared for the 
coming of her visitors. A wood fire burned 
brightly on the hearth, and the flames were 
reflected on the polished fender, and on the 
brass dogs that kept it in its place. The deep 
colour of the beautiful Smyrna mats which 
were strewn over the floor glowed warmly in 
the light of the flames, making a rich back- 
ground to the hothouse plants which had 
evidently been brought in to decorate the room 
for the occasion. 

The furniture belonged to no special period, 
so that the owner, in arranging it, was not 
hampered by the laws of style or fashion; and 

1 


2 


REFINING FIRES 


the chairs, richly upholstered in brocaded satin, 
were placed as comfort and convenience die- 
tated. In an alcove at one end of the room 
preparations were laid for five-o’clock tea, an 
institution now almost as important in Paris 
as it is in London. Half-a-dozen little tables, 
evidently belonging to a set which fitted into 
each other when not in use, were placed at 
intervals along the wall; and, besides the 
necessary tea things and numerous dishes of 
delicious little cakes, there were ornamental 
decanters of Spanish wines and pretty liqueur 
glasses for those who had not acquired the 
foreign taste for tea. Everything in the room, 
down to the smallest detail, was in perfect 
taste ; and yet the whole was laid out according 
to the latest dictates of fashion. 

Madame Mauvoisin herself was seated on a 
large Turkish divan, surrounded by innumer- 
able cushions; and, whilst waiting for her 
visitors, she was idly reading the latest sen- 
sational novel that the people of her world 
were talking about. Her hands were soft and 
white — the hands of a woman who spent time 
and trouble upon her personal adornment. 
Her black silk gown was made with the sim- 


MME. MAUVOISIN’S VISITOR 3 


plicity which only the very best dressmakers 
dare to recommend ; and the sombre folds gave 
a certain symmetry to the figure which age had 
begun to coarsen. >She was already well past 
fifty; but time had touched her lightly, and it 
was only during the last year or two that her 
mirror had shown her that the inevitable sor- 
rows of life cannot be borne without some trace 
of their existence becoming visible. The only 
acknowledgment she made of coming age was 
the piece of finest Mechlin lace which lay over 
her abundant hair, that was still soft and 
brown under its gossamer covering. 

In spite of the startling nature of her book 
as revealed by its title, Madame Mauvoisin’s 
eyes kept straying from its pages to the clock; 
and before long it was cast aside altogether, 
for the bell in the hall of the apartment an- 
nounced the coming of the first of her guests. 
A heavy, embroidered portiere hung over the 
doorway, and this was held aside by the foot- 
man as he said : 

“Madame Philippe Gerard.” 

Madame Mauvoisin rose from her seat and 
held out her hands in welcome. 

“You!” she cried in tones of surprise. “My 


4 


REFINING FIRES 


dear Madame Gerard, this is a great pleasure. 
I had no idea you had already returned from 
Russia.” 

“We have been in Paris only a few days,” 
explained her visitor, smilingly. “I should 
have come to see you sooner, only, fearing to 
miss you, I waited for your ‘At Home’ day.” 

“I am glad you have come so early,” said 
Madame Mauvoisin, drawing forward an arm- 
chair. “Your long absence has not made you 
forget yoiu* friends.” 

“It has only made me more anxious than 
ever to see them,” replied Madame Gerard. 

“Curiously enough, my husband and I were 
talking of you this morning,” went on Madame 
Mauvoisin; “and I said that if you stayed 
away much longer you would become a natural- 
ised Russian.” 

“Thank you! — no,” laughed Madame Ger- 
ard. “I am more French than ever — Parisian 
to my finger tips. This long exile has only 
made me love my country better than before.” 

“Then you will never make up your mind 
to leave it again, I suppose?” 

“Never to live in Russia again,” replied the 
returned traveller. “We went only to Volvoof, 


MME. MAUVOISIN’S VISITOR 5 


so that my husband might put all in order for 
the sale of the estate; and things took longer 
to arrange than we had foreseen.” 

“Well, at least you will have a great deal to 
tell us of your travels.” 

“Not even that, I am afraid. You see, 
travelling is so easy nowadays that there is no 
hope or fear of adventures. Of course, living 
as we did, we saw a great deal that the traveller 
merely passes by. Some day I will give you 
my impressions of the Berezina coast. But, 
first of all, I want you to tell me all about 
yourself. To begin with, how is M. Mau- 
voisin?” 

“He is very well, thank you; and, as usual, 
very busy.” 

“I need not ask how you are,” went on 
Madame Gerard. “You have not changed in 
the least. You look as young and as blooming 
as ever.” 

“As young! That is only flattery. I am 
becoming quite an old woman.” And Madame 
Mauvoisin glanced at the mirror, where her 
reflection showed plainly how little her words 
meant. 

“Indeed it is not flattery,” said Madame 


6 


REFINING FIRES 


Gerard. “I can hardly believe you are a day 
older than when I left Paris five years ago, 
and yet there has been time for many changes. 
Now tell me about your children?” 

“My children!” Madame Mauvoisin’s fea- 
tures contracted and her smile died away. 
“You must have heard what has happened,” 
she said quickly, — “I mean about my son,” she 
added in answer to her friend’s look of interro- 
gation. 

Madame Gerard hesitated for a moment. 

“I — I did hear that you had been disap- 
pointed,” she said uncertainly. 

“Disappointed! Say rather deceived — 
grossly deceived.” 

Leaning forward, she seized the tongs and 
began toying with the burning logs. 

“I am afraid it has been a grief to you,” said 
Madame Gerard, gently. 

“It has been, and is, and always will be a 
grief.” Madame Mauvoisin’s voice was harsh 
and decided. “I shall never get over it — 
never !” And her lips closed as though she were 
registering an oath. 

Madame Gerard sighed sympathetically. 

“Of course I heard no details,” she said 


MME. MAUVOISIN’S VISITOR 7 


tentatively, not certain how far her friend 
wished to confide in her, 

“They had been married only six months,” 
continued Madame Mauvoisin, “when the blow 
came; and all that Raoul ever saw or will see 
of her money is a paltry nine thousand francs.” 

“Nine thousand francs!” said Madame Ger- 
ard. “I thought that her fortune was secured.” 

“Not a penny more than that,” replied 
Madame Mauvoisin. “Nominally, she had 
eight hundred thousand francs, but it was all 
swept away in her father’s ruin.” 

For a moment there was silence, then 
Madame Gerard spoke again : 

“We had been only a few weeks at Volvoof 
when we heard about it. I thought so much 
of you, and would have liked to write; but, 
being at such a distance, I knew so little — ” 

“What did you hear about it?” asked Madame 
Mauvoisin, cutting short her friend’s condo- 
lences. 

“They informed me that M. de Barli’s 
cashier absconded, leaving the shareholders 
penniless.” 

“Say, rather, the shareholder,” observed 
Madame Mauvoisin, bitterly. “There is only 


8 


REFINING FIRES 


one man in the world fool enough to have been 
so taken in.” 

“Then is everything lost?” 

“Everything. The business was worth 
^100,000, besides Lucienne’s fortune, on 
which M. de Barli undertook to pay six per 
cent. Apparently a most generous proposal!” 

“How unfortunate that the capital was not 
invested elsewhere!” 

“That is what I shall never get over. Fancy 
persuading a man like my husband — for Raoul, 
as you know, is so easy-going that he left all 
the settlements to his father — fancy getting 
round him and persuading him to leave all that 
money in a business on the verge of ruin!” 

“Then M. de Barli refused to pay down his 
daughter’s fortune in ready money?” 

“Oh, no ! He was not asked to do that. My 
husband agreed to leave it where such high 
interest was promised. You see, the marriage 
was a suitable one. Lucienne was an only 
child; and, rather than make difficulties, we 
accepted her father’s terms. Who could have 
guessed that such a catastrophe was imminent? 
No credit seemed more secure in the business 
world than theirs.” 


MME. MAUVOISIN’S VISITOR 9 


“But M. de Barli — strictly between our- 
selves — ^had he no idea of what was impend- 
ing?” 

“Oh, no! I did not mean to insinuate that 
exactly, but he ought to have known. No, 
indeed. It came to him, as it did to us, as a 
thunderbolt. He was like a madman for days 
after that scoundrel took himself olf.” 

“The unfortunate man!” said Madame Ger- 
ard. “How dreadful for him! Well, it is at 
least something that there is no blame at- 
tached — ” 

“Blame! — ^no blame!” cried Madame Mau- 
voisin. “What do you say to such imprudence, 
such blindness ! Once, when my husband 
touched on the subject of securities with regard 
to this Lozares, M. de Barli absolutely refused 
to listen to him. If he had had twenty millions 
of money, I believe he would have entrusted 
that man with every penny of it.” 

“What an extraordinary infatuation!” mur- 
mured Madame Gerard. 

“Indeed, you may well say so. He main- 
tained to the last that such friendship as theirs, 
such family ties, made even suspicion an in- 
sult.” 


10 REFINIIfG FIRES 

“Ah! then the wretch was a relation of the 
De Barhs?” 

“No, thank goodness — ^no real relation! It 
seems that at the time of the Restoration, 
M. de Barli’s father and the father of this 
Lozares were sent out together on some mis- 
sion to Chili. The Lozares are Spaniards, and 
the two young men were brought up together — 
M. de Barli at least looking on the other as his 
brother. In fact, until all this came out, he 
seemed to consider him a sort of idol, a regular 
demigod. The De Barlis lived, as you know, 
at Poitiers, but Lozares carried on his business 
in Marseilles. It was more of a financial than 
a commercial affair. M. Mauvoisin went once 
to his office and found him alone, his desk 
littered with papers and telegrams, and a huge 
burglar-proof safe taking up half the room. 
He was in the midst of having large sums of 
money transferred from Saragossa to Ha- 
vana. Most of his business was between 
Spain and the Colonies, and he must have 
gambled heavily on the exchange.” 

“Then he acted only as an intermediary for 
M. de Barli?” 

“Not at all, my dear ! Can you imagine such 


MME. MAUVOISIN’S VISITOR 11 


folly, such wicked carelessness ? He had in his 
hands every penny belonging to the De Bar- 
lis — a good three million francs, if not more — 
to do with as he pleased.” 

“But what about Madame de Barb’s for- 
tune?” 

“She had none. Her father was an officer 
in the army, whose family had been ruined at 
the time of the Revolution; and, as I say, M. 
de Barb trusted this Lozares as he would have 
trusted his own brother, perhaps even more so. 
His interest was paid regularly, and evidently 
he asked no questions about the capital, until 
one fine day Lozares disappeared, and it turned 
out that he had put his friend’s fortune and 
his own into the same purse, and either lost it 
or carried it off. In any case, everything was 
gone.” 

“How dreadful! How appalling!” said 
Madame Gerard. 

“It is the kind of thing one can never get 
over,” added Madame Mauvoisin. 

“I can understand how terribly you must 
have felt it,” replied Madame Gerard. “And 
poor Raoul, too !” 

“Yes, indeed^, Raoul was absolutely dazed 


12 


REFINING FIRES 


by it all ; and of course it has entailed changes 
in their household, in their whole way of living, 
that are most painful to him. I insisted that 
he should keep his own horse, though they had 
to give up their carriage. It is only fair,” she 
added, half to herself, “that he should not be 
the one to suffer most.” 

“They have no children, I think?” asked 
Madame Gerard. 

“They had one, but it was very delicate and 
lived only a few weeks. We thought Lucienne 
would hardly get over it, but she did rally at 
last.” 

“Thank God for that! It would have been 
too dreadful for poor Raoul if he had lost all — 
everything — one may say, at one blow.” 

Madame Mauvoisin made no answer; but, 
seizing a fan, she held it up between her face 
and the fire, at the same time hiding her expres- 
sion from her friend. 

“She was such a charming girl,” went on 
Madame Gerard. “I remember her so well at 
a ball that was given soon after their marriage. 
She was like a portrait by Titian, with that 
wonderful hair.” 

“Yes, she is pretty enough,” repMed Madame 


MME. MAUVOISIN’S VISITOR 13 


Mauvoisin indifferently; “or rather she was 
pretty. She has changed greatly, and looks 
quite passee already.” 

“And what has happened to her poor par- 
ents?” 

“They left Poitiers immediately. It would 
have been too painful for them to remain in a 
place where everyone knew them, where their 
ruin was the talk of the town. They are in 
Paris, I believe — living somewhere near the 
Luxembourg, Raoul told us.” 

“Then do you see nothing of them?” per- 
sisted Madame Gerard. 

“No, certainly not. We could not be ex- 
pected to forget the past; and the gulf that 
swallowed up all our hopes for Raoul lies 
between us. Even if M. de Barli had shown 
that he regretted what he had done we might 
have forgiven him ; but he has been most high- 
handed in the whole matter, and he and my 
husband had a regular scene. Since then, of 
course, any intercourse has been impossible.” 

“What happens, then, if you meet them at 
your son’s house?” 

“We begged that Raoul should do as we 
have been obliged to do. It is painful cer- 


14 


REFINING FIRES 


tainly, but he has agreed not to see his wife’s 
people. After all he has suffered through their 
fault, he can not be blamed for what he does.” 

“But surely his wife still sees her parents?” 

“Yes, I believe she does. Raoul has not 
forbidden her to do so. He just shuts his eyes 
and asks no questions.” 

“Has nothing been done to punish the 
wretched thief?” said Madame Gerard. 

“Everything has been done to try to find 
him,” replied Madame Mauvoisin; “but, so far, 
not the slightest trace of him can be discovered. 
He wrote to M. de Barli from Modane, but 
that may have been merely a blind. He has 
been condemned to twelve years’ penal servi- 
tude. That, however, is very little satisfaction 
to us ; for he is far too cunning to be caught.” 

“What a wretch he must have been! How 
could M. de Barli let himself be so taken in?” 

“About thirty years ago, I believe the Lo- 
zares lost money in safeguarding the De Barlis’ 
interests. What they did was merely common 
honesty, but M. de Barli chose to look upon it 
as something heroic. In any case, it was the 
father’s doing. The son has shown himself to 
be a very different kind of a man.” 


MME. MAUVOISIN’S VISITOR 15 


It was altogether a painful subject; and, 
having heard all that there was to tell, Madame 
Gerard was not sorry to turn the conversation 
into a more pleasant channel. 


/ 


CHAPTER II 

A MOTHER^S PRIDE 

“Now tell me about your daughter, dear 
Madame Mauvoisin!” said the visitor. “I am 
sure that she at least has brought you nothing 
hut happiness and consolation.” 

Madame Mauvoisin leaned hack against the 
soft cushions of the divan, and the smile which 
the remembrance of her son’s misfortunes had 
banished, reappeared upon her lips. 

“You are right,” she said: “Louise has been 
our great consolation. Her marriage was a 
joy to us all — nay, more: between ourselves, 
I own it was a triumph. Dear child! She is 
indeed a favourite of Fortune.” 

“I am not surprised at that,” said Madame 
Gerard. “She was such a dear little creature, 
so bright and full of life.” 

“Perhaps I ought not to praise her,” returned 
her mother, smiling; “but there is no denying 
16 


A MOTHER’S PRIDE 


17 


her talents. And marriage has improved her 
enormously. Since she has had a house of her 
own, she has become so dignified. Oh, you will 
find her quite a woman of the world!” 

“I shall be delighted to see her,” said 
Madame Gerard, “and to make acquaintance 
with the Baron de Charolles.” 

“He is well worth knowing. A wonderful 
man, my dear! Before he was thirty, he had 
made eight hundred thousand francs on the 
Stock Exchange. Since his marriage he must 
have at least trebled that amount. If he goes 
on as he is doing, he will rival the Rothschilds. 
Such a head for business! Such discrimina- 
tion ! Y ou can see even in his photograph that 
'he is no ordinary mortal.” 

The proud mother-in-law held out a portrait 
of the object of her praise, and Madame Ger- 
ard studied it with interest/ 

The Baron de Charolles was certainly an 
extraordinarily good-looking man. His high 
forehead and deep-set eyes showed great mental 
powers ;but the lines round his mouth indicated 
a highly-strung nervous temperament ; an im- 
pression intensified by the hands — one tightly 
clenched, the other hardly able to keep still 


18 


REFINING FIRES 


even before the camera. At first sight it was 
a picture to arouse admiration, yet in its very 
beauty there was something sinister. This lat- 
ter was the impression that it left on Madame 
Gerard’s mind. She was, however, too polite 
and too politic to express her real sentiments; 
hut to the words of approval evidently ex- 
pected from her she could not help adding that 
she thought he looked very serious and pre- 
occupied. 

“Yes, he is serious,” replied his mother-in- 
law; “but he is perfectly charming, all the same. 
He is very fond of his wife; and as to his 
children, he is quite foolish about them. There 
are times when he is preoccupied and silent; 
but, with all he has on his mind, that is only 
natural. Luckily, his wife understands him 
thoroughly. They are a most devoted couple.” 

At that moment the sound of the door bell 
broke in upon Madame Mauvoisin’s conversa- 
tion with her friend, putting a stop to further 
confidences. 

Without waiting to be announced, two newly 
arrived visitors ushered themselves into the 
room. They were about the same age; both 
were taU and slight, but here the resemblance 


A MOTHER’S PRIDE 


19 


between them ceased. The foremost, fair 
and graceful, was too much like Madame 
Mauvoisin for her identity to remain in doubt. 
Was Madame de Charolles good-looking? 
Perhaps not, strictly speaking; although her 
youth and the way she wore her beautiful 
clothes might have given her a claim to be 
called pretty, had she not been completely over- 
shadowed by the wonderful beauty of her 
companion. 

Classical features, almost perfect in their 
regularity, with deep dark eyes, were shadowed 
by heavy masses of auburn hair — ^not the 
ordinary reddish colour that is so called, but 
the warm, ruddy tint so loved of artists. The 
skin was creamy white, and the lines of the 
sweet, delicate mouth showed that trouble had 
already clouded the sunshine of the young life. 
There was a further difference between the 
sisters-in-law. A fair-haired boy toddled at 
Madame de Charolles’ side; and she was fol- 
lowed by a nurse in pretty peasant dress, 
carrying a placid-sleeping babe. But Lucienne 
was alone. 

“Madame Gerard! In Paris! Can I really 
see aright?” Madame de Charolles went 


20 


REFINING FIRES 


quickly towards her old friend. “What a 
delightful surprise! It is so nice to see you 
again — ” 

“Louise dear,” interrupted Madame Mau- 
voisin, “are you not tired after your night at 
the opera?” 

“Not at all, thank you. Mother! No, I will 
not sit down just yet. I must show the children 
to Madame Gerard.” 

She turned toward the sleeping baby, and 
Madame Mauvoisin took the two-year-old boy 
in her arms. 

“Here is the favorite, the spoiled boy!” she 
said laughingly. “Kiss grandmamma, dar- 
ling!” 

But the child, true to the character that his 
grandmother gave him, pushed aside her 
caresses impatiently, and struggled to get to 
the sweets upon the tea tables. 

“Give him what he wants, nurse,” said his 
grandmother, “or we shall not be able to hear 
ourselves speak. He is a young man who 
knows his own mind, I can assure you,” she 
added to Madame Gerard. “He is accustomed 
to getting everything he wants.” 

Whilst this was going on, Lucienne was 


A MOTHER’S PRIDE 


21 


standing rather apart from the animated little 
group. IMadame Gerard, who knew her very 
slightly, had merely bowed to her when she 
came in ; and her mother-in-law had only vouch- 
safed a curt “Good morning, Lucienne!” The 
conversation went on between the others, and 
nearly a quarter of an hour passed before she 
was able to say a word. 

“I have a message for you from Raoul, 
IMadame,” she said at last. “He wished me to 
tell you how sorry he is not to be able to come 
to you to-day.” 

“Raoul not coming!” cried Madame Mau- 
voisin, “not coming on a day that he knows I 
am expecting him 1 And pray what reason can 
you give for such neglect?” 

“]M. de la Chenaie invited him this morning 
to Val-des-Bois. They are shooting there 
to-day. I do not expect him home until 
to-morrow.” 

“Ah,' that makes all the difference!” said 
Madame Mauvoisin. “I knew he was to go 
one day to Val-des-Bois; in fact, I begged him 
myself to accept M. de la Chenaie’s invitation.” 
Then, turning to Madame Gerard, she went 
on: “It is a charming place and excellent 


22 


REFINING FIRES 


shooting. Raoul will have a most pleasant visit. 
Of course, the dear boy ought not to dream of 
giving up such pleasures for me. His life is 
dull enough — ” 

Madame Gerard could not resist stealing a 
glance at the young wife’s face as her mother- 
in-law spoke; but there was no change to be 
seen upon it, beyond a slight colour which 
showed in the pale cheeks. 

“He will come to-morrow and tell me all 
about it,” went on Madame Mauvoisin. “Tell 
him, Lucienne, that I shall be expecting him. 
He had better come to lunch, so as to be sure 
to find his father at home.” 

“Very well, Madame, I will give him your 
message,” answered Lucienne, coldly; but her 
mother-in-law paid no attention to her tone, 
though her own voice changed as she turned 
to her daughter. The dictatorial manner 
became soft and caressing as she laid her hand 
on Louise’s arm. 

“What have you been doing to-day, dear?” 
she asked. 

“Frederic had a bad headache this morning,” 
replied Madame de Charolles, “so we went for 
a drive in the Bois,” 


A MOTHER’S PRIDE 


23 


On hearing this, Madame Mauvoisin was at 
once filled with anxiety on behalf of her son- 
n-law ; but Louise reassured her, and they went 
on to speak of his work, each vying with the 
other in praising him to Madame Gerard. 
From what they said their visitor learned that 
the Mauvoisins were evidently counting on 
their son-in-law’s genius for finance to recoup 
the losses that their son had sustained through 
the De Barli misfortunes. 

Probably neither of them meant to be unkind 
to 7 '’cienne. Louise, at least, forgot her 
presence as she extolled her husband’s ability; 
but Madame Gerard thought she detected a 
tone of bitterness in her old friend’s voice when 
she spoke of the Baron’s successes, as though 
comparing them in her mind with the misfor- 
tunes that another financier had brought about. 

Lucienne sat silent and apparently un- 
moved ; but Madame Gerard guessed that her 
composure was assumed, and that even if her 
sister-in-law’s thoughtlessness was excusable, 
her mother-in-law’s hidden taunts must have 
goaded her almost past endurance. 

The conversation had again changed, and 
Madame Mauvoisin was begging her daughter 


24 


REFINING FIRES 


to stay and dine with them, offering to send 
to M. de Charolles’ office to tell him to join 
the party, when Lucienne rose from her seat. 
Madame Gerard had been watching her 
covertly, and she could not check a feeling of 
indignation against her old friend as she saw 
how purposely she ignored her daughter-in- 
law. Though outwardly courteous enough, 
she seemed to take a cruel pleasure in saying 
the things most likely to be painful. 

“Dear Madame, you are not going already?” 
cried Madame de Charolles, seeing that 
Madame Gerard had also risen. 

“You must not go!” said Madame Mau- 
voisin. “Why should you not stay to dinner 
also? We should just make up a charming 
little party.” 

“You are more than kind, but really I must 
go,” said Madame Gerard, glancing now 
openly at Lucienne, who, although her mother- 
in-law knew she would be alone at home, 
received no invitation to stay. 

“Wait one moment at least,” urged Madame 
de Charolles. “I am just getting some Russian 
furs, and I want your advice about them. Oh, 
are you going, Lucienne?” she added carelessly. 


A MOTHER’S PRIDE 


25 


holding out her hand. “Well, good-bye, then !” 

“Good-bye, Luciennel” said Madame Mau- 
voisin, coldly. 

Madame Raoul would have merely bowed 
again to Madame Gerard, to whom she had 
not been introduced; but the elder woman’s 
warm heart was touched, and she held out her 
hand, looking up kindly as she did so into the 
sad young face. Lucienne did not speak, but 
her lips contracted, as though to hide their 
quivering; and the fingers that she laid on her 
new friend’s palm felt cold even through the 
glove that covered them. 

She crossed the drawing-room slowly, and 
walked through the hall, with her head held 
proudly high. The footman came forward 
quickly to open the door for her. All the 
servants in her mother-in-law’s house gave 
ready service to Madame Raoul; and even now, 
in her distress, she forced herself to smile her 
thanks to the man as she passed out. Just as 
he closed the door again, a ripple of childish 
laughter reached her ears; and then at last, 
standing alone on the dark staircase landing, 
her composure gave way. 

“God help me I” she sobbed, leaning for a 


26 


REFINING FIRES 


moment against the wall; but steps below 
warned her not to linger; and, drawing down 
her veil, she hurried from the house. 


CHAPTER III 


THE DE BAELI HOME 

At the time of his marriage, Raoul de 
Mauvoisin wished to take a house in one of the 
wide avenues that run off the Champs Elysees. 
Lucienne, who was accustomed to the space and 
air of a provincial town, shrank from the idea 
of settling down in a narrow, noisy street; but 
Raoul’s parents were so bent on having the 
young couple near them, that they gave up 
their project, though not without regret, and 
established themselves in the Rue Taitbout. 

It did not, therefore, take Lucienne long to 
get home from the Rue Lafayette. Yet before 
reaching her own door she had quite regained 
her self-command. Going straight to her room, 
she took off the long satin coat which she had 
been wearing, and laid aside her feather- 
trimmed hat, donning in their place a cloak and 
toque almost severe in their simplicity. Then, 
27 


28 


REFINING FIRES 


ringing for her maid, she told her that she was 
going out and would not return until after 
dinner. 

Evening was closing in. It was past five 
o’clock, and a slight fog dimmed the gaslights 
which were already showing in the shop 
windows. The air was cold and damp, the 
streets were wet, and the continual traffic had 
made the pavements muddy and slippery. 

Lucienne walked rapidly along, heeding 
neither hour nor weather, but after going a 
short distance her attention was caught by the 
contents of a shop window, before which a small 
group of people was gathered. It was a 
provision dealers; and several delicious-look- 
ing dishes, cooked and ready for use, were dis- 
played in tempting array. Those who looked 
with longing eyes at the delicacies were not 
purchasers, and Lucienne had to force her way 
through them, which she did as gently as was 
possible. The dish which she chose to buy was 
less ornate than those which were shown in the 
window. It was a chicken pate, crusted with 
most excellent-looking pastry. The shopman 
offered to send her purchase, but she said she 
preferred to carry it herself ; and when it was 


THE DE BARLI HOME 29 


ivrapped in paper, she slipped it under the folds 
of her cloak. 

A cutting wind met her as, leaving the shop, 
she turned toward the river, till, after crossing 
one of the bridges, she was sheltered in a long 
dark street, very unlike the quarter she had 
just left. Twenty minutes’ walk found her 
amidst surroundings poorer and darker still. 
An old house in a narrow street off the Place 
Saint-Sulpice was her destination. A porter 
sat, as though on guard, in a tiny boxlike office 
under the archway leading to the courtyard, 
whence the stairs mounted to the apartments 
above. Recognizing Lucienne, he let her pass 
without comment; and she crossed quickly to 
the staircase and began to ascend the steep 
steps, which time and damp and the passage 
of many feet had stained and worn away. On 
the third floor she paused to take breath. 
Young as she was, she found the stairs very 
fatiguing; but her thoughts turned in anguish 
from herself to those — old and, oh, so dear! — 
who had to climb that same way daily. 

Still another flight lay before her; but at last 
she reached the door she sought, and rang 
gently. With little delay it was opened to her, 


80 REFINING FIRES 

and she saw a man standing before her in the 
dim light. 

“Father, dear, it is I !” she said. 

“What! Lucienne at this hour! We had 
given you up for to-day.” And he kissed her 
tenderly. 

“Raoul had to leave home, so I have come to 
spend the evening with you,” explained 
Lucienne. “How is my mother to-night?” 

“Her cough is very bad.” M. de Barli 
dropped his voice and spoke sadly. “Go to her, 
dear, she is in the sitting-room.” 

Lucienne went forward as she was told, and 
opened the door of the sitting-room. There 
was no light in it, except what came from the 
dancing flames of a fire, whose tell-tale crackle 
revealed that it had only just been lit. The 
figure of a woman was silhouetted against the 
glow, which, feeble as it was, showed out the 
poor thin hands which vainly sought for 
warmth. 

“Mother!” Lucienne sprang to Madame de 
Barli’s side. “What is the matter? Are you 
very ill?” 

“My darling, is that you?” It was a very 
worn and frail figure that Lucienne pressed in 


THE DE BARLI HOME 31 


her young arms. “No I am not ill. It is 
nothing. I am tired to-night, and have caught 
a little cold. But, dear, how late to come to 
us, and on so bad a night ! It is raining: I feel 
your cloak is quite wet.” 

“I will take it off,” replied Lucienne. “It is 
only damp from the fog, and there is plenty of 
time for it to dry. I am going to spend the 
evening with you.” 

“Why did you not send us word, dear, and 
I would have had dinner earlier for you?” said 
Madame de Barli. 

“Send you word! Why, Mother, I thought 
you would welcome even a surprise visit!” 

“You know the welcome that is always 
waiting for you here,” she said. “Only if I 
had known that you were coming, ovu: menu 
might have been less scanty.” 

“I thought of that, too,” said Lucienne, 
playfully; and she produced the pat^ which 
had been lying in its paper on the table. 

“That is all right, then,” said M. de Barli, 
speaking in a stern tone, and not even looking 
at the appetizing dish. “We may as well dine 
at once. I do not want to be late,” he added, 
addressing his wife. 


32 


REFINING FIRES 

“Late?” repeated Lucienne interrogatively. 
But her mother checked her with a quick 
gesture. 

“Very well, dear. It will be ready in five 
minutes,” Madame de Barli said, rising from 
her chair. 

“Where are you going. Mother? Surely 
Manette is not out at this hour?” 

“She — she is not in,” began Madame de 
Barli; but her husband cut her short. 

“Manette has left us,” he said. “She wanted 
more wages.” 

“Prosper, let me explain!” remarked 
Madame de Barli, seeing how distressed her 
daughter looked. 

“Lucienne is not blind,” he replied dryly. 
“No explanations can get over the fact that we 
are alone here. She can see it for herself.” 

“But since when have you been without a 
servant?” asked Lucienne. 

“Only a few days,” replied Madame de 
Barli. “You must not blame her for having 
left us,” she went on, seeing that Lucienne was 
about to speak. “Her father is old and she has 
to earn all she can for him.” 

“Ah,” murmured Lucienne, “she is lucky! 


THE DE BARLI HOME 33 


She at least can work for her parents. Let me 
help you,” she continued aloud. “Let me be 
your servant just for to-night.” 

“No, dear!” Her mother’s tone admitted of 
no further discussion. “No. I prefer to do it 
myself. I know where everything is.” 

She left the room to make preparations for 
the simple meal, and Lucienne and her father 
were left alone together. One of the miserable 
consequences following on the misfortunes that 
had ruined the De Barlis was the existence of 
a growing barrier between the father and 
daughter. In his wife’s presence, M. de Barli 
never spoke openly to Lucienne of her husband 
or his people; but on the few occasions when 
they had been alone together, he did not try to 
hide the resentment, the hatred that their 
conduct had aroused in him. Duty forbade 
that Lucienne should listen to abuse of the man 
who was her husband, who, in his own careless 
fashion, was kind to her, and whom, in spite of 
all, she loved. And, besides this, the unchristian 
feelings to which her father gave vent dis- 
tressed her beyond measure, for his own sake. 

No sooner had Madame de Barli left the 
room than he began in his usual yein ; and, in 


84 


REFINING FIRES 


spite of Lucienne’s protests, he went on, pacing 
the room as he spoke, and ending in a voice that 
trembled with rage and baffled hate. 

“What would I not give to have them in my 
power!” he cried. “If only I could make them 
feel something of the sufferings that they have 
inflicted on me I should die content.” 

“Father, Father I” said Lucienne. “It is not 
right to speak like that.” 

“Right I” he retorted. “Is it right to prevent 
a daughter from receiving her parents in her 
own house? Is it right to add to the miseries 
of a miserable man? Is it right to be heartless, 
unjust?” 

His voice died away, for there was a sound 
of steps in the corridor without. 

“I know, dear, dear Father! — I know!” 
whispered Lucienne. “But nothing can make 
your wish for revenge anything but wrong.” 

At that moment the door opened. 

“The dinner is ready,” said Madame de 
Barli, and neither father nor daughter re- 
gretted that the conversation could not be 
prolonged. 

Lucienne noted that the dining-room, as well 
as the sitting-room, bore signs of poverty, which 


THE DE BARLI HOME 85 


was made the more apparent in contrast with 
a few costly articles of furniture, evidently 
relics of happier days, that dotted the room 
here and there. 

The meal itself was poor and scanty. The 
soup, though served from a massive silver 
tureen, was indifferent; and, had it not been 
for Lucienne’s contribution to the meal, a dish 
of vegetables and a plate of dried fruit would 
have completed the menu. Madame de Barli 
ate little, but her husband took his share of the 
pate hungrily, almost greedily. As for 
Lucienne, every mouthful seemed as though it 
would choke her. She had known that her 
parents were poor, but never before had she 
realised that they were in absolute want. She 
could not bear to see her father eat; her 
mother’s cough went through her like a knife. 
He had been hungry; she had been cold. 
Lucienne shivered at the thought of what she 
was powerless to remedy. In the past she had 
always told her mother when Raoul’s absence 
was likely to leave her free, and much had 
therefore been hidden from her. To-night she 
saw her parents’ existence in all its sordid 
nakedness. 


36 


REFINING FIRES 


Lucienne had other troubles apart from 
those of her parents. She was often lonely and 
neglected at home; for Raoul’s mother was 
continually asking him to her house without 
including her in the invitation; and her friends, 
seeing this, did the same thing. This neglect 
and the covert insults to which she was subject 
had been kept secret in the past, and now 
Lucienne found that she had not been the only 
one to have recourse to concealment. 

“What time is it?” asked her father, breaking 
in upon her gloomy thoughts. 

She could not trust herself to speak, so held 
up her watch before him. 

“Seven o’clock already! Then I have no 
time to spare. I shall be back in an hour. Will 
you still be here, child?” 

“Yes, Father, I will remain with Mother 
until you come back.” 

He rose from the table, answering his wife 
shortly when she begged him to put on his 
overcoat; and Lucienne, to her astonishment, 
heard the door that led from the apartment on 
to the staircase open, and then quickly close 
again. 


CHAPTER IV 


t THEIR DAUGHTER'S TISIT 

I ^ 

» 

f “What is it?” asked Lucienne. “Where 
has father gone at this time of night?” 

“He is upset this evening, Lucienne dear, 
because — ^well, he has made up his mind to 
undertake a task that is most repugnant to him. 
M. Roger, who has a school close to this, has 
asked him to go in for an hour every evening to 
speak Spanish to some of the students. You 
understand how painful it is to him to do this.” 

“Poor father ! Yes, indeed I do understand. 
Every word must bring before his mind the 
remembrance of Pedro Lozares.” 

“That is it. He has never ceased talking of 
him — ever since this arrangement was made.” 

“That makes it as bad for you as it is for 
him. Why did you let him do it. Mother? He 
should have refused.” 

“He thought it better, dear. After all, it 
37 


38 


REFINING FIRES 


is only one more trial for us to take from the 
hands of God.” 

They had gone back to the sitting-room, and 
Lucienne put her arms about her mother. 

“Poor, poor darhng!” she said softly, stifling 
a sob, and leaning her face against the worn 
cheek, which she felt burning against her own. 
“Mother,” she cried, affrighted, “you must be 
ill! Tell me! Don’t hide anything more from 
me. I would much rather know the worst.” 

She spoke almost fiercely, as though any 
further sorrow would be intolerable to her. 
But her mother soothed her quickly. 

“Really, dear, I am not ill. I had to go out 
in the cold to-day to see a girl the nuns 
recommended to replace Manette, and I must 
have caught a little chill; but it is nothing. I 
own that the state your poor father has been 
in all day has helped to worry me. There are 
times when it seems as though he had to talk 
of Lozares ; and I cannot — no, I cannot — think 
of him as a Christian, so I try to put the 
remembrance of him from me altogether. I 
seem to see him enjoying his ill-gotten gains, 
whilst we are suffering for his faults; and — 
God forgive me! — I cannot pardon him.” 


THEIR DAUGHTER’S VISIT 89 


“Don’t think of him like that. Mother. 
Surely, wherever he is, he cannot be happy; 
for he must be tortured with remorse.” 

“Remorse! Lozares! Such men as he has 
proved himself to be don’t know the meaning 
of the word remorse.” 

“Yet Judas, the worst of criminals, was 
capable of feeling it,” said Lucienne, softly. 
“Besides, I am sure that God will not allow 
us to suffer for ever. Some day justice will 
be done.” 

“We have been waiting a long time for 
that day,” sighed Madame de Barli. “O 
Lucienne, I am afraid I am becoming very 
wicked!” 

“You are over-tired to-night, dear!” said 
Lucienne, soothingly. “Let me put you to bed 
just as I used to do sometimes in the happy 
days that are gone.” 

“No, no! I see you too seldom to miss a 
moment of your company,’* replied Madame 
de Barli. “It rests me just to sit with you like 
this.” 

Lucienne rearranged the cushions at her 
mother’s head, then seated herself on a low stool 
beside her. 


40 


REFINING FIRES 


“You must not think, dear child,” went on 
Madame de Barli, “that I often feel as 
wretched as I do to-night. Sometimes, sitting 
here, I am almost contented, thinking of you 
in your happy life ; for you are happy, dear — 
are you not?” 

For a mdment Lucienne made no reply. 
Putting other things out of the question, how 
could she be happy, knowing how her parents 
were suffering? But Madame de Barli 
misinterpreted her silence. 

“Tell me, Lucienne,” she said peremptorily. 
“You must tell me if Raoul is unkind to you.” 

“No — oh, no!” cried Lucienne, eagerly. 
“Indeed I have nothing to reproach him with, 
except in one respect,” — and she pressed her 
mother’s hand. “He never refuses me any- 
thing for myself; but he is weak, and he has 
always allowed himself to be guided too much 
by his mother.” 

“Weakness such as his might be called by a 
harder name, I am thinking,” said Madame de 
Barli. 

“No, Mother, you must not be too hard on 
Raoul. I know him so well, and I can see that 
he often regrets having to do as he is asked; 


THEIR DAUGHTER’S VISIT 41 


but he feels that he is — that we are — dependent 
on his parents.” 

“And cannot his mother see that she is 
making little of her son when she persuades him 
to act against his better instincts ? O Lucienne, 
wherever I turn I find myself growing hard 
and unforgiving! There are times when I can 
hardly keep myself from wishing that the day 
may come when she will learn from experience 
what it is to he forbidden to cross the threshold 
of her own daughter’s home.” 

“Mother darling, don’t — don’t say that!” 
cried Lucienne. “It would be far worse for 
her than for you. You have nothing to 
reproach yourself with ; you have only sorrow 
to bear, whilst she would also have remorse and 
humiliation.” 

“I could forgive her as far as we are 
concerned,” said Madame de Barli, “if I 
thought that she was good to you.” 

“She is always very — polite,” faltered 
Lucienne. 

“Nothing more than polite to her own 
daughter-in-law ?” 

“I did not mean to complain. Mother.” 

“No; you merely mean to be just,” replied 


42 


REFINING FIRES 


her mother. “I know how they treat you, 
darling! A mother-in-law who cannot forgive 
yoiu* loss of fortune, and a sister-in-law who 
cannot forget your beautiful face — ” 

“Dearest,” interposed Lucienne, “you 
imagine things. When I married, Louise was 
only a young girl; perhaps she was a little 
jealous of the notice that was given to me as a 
bride; but now — ” 

“But now she has not changed,” replied 
Madame de Barli. 

“How can you tell that?” said Lucienne. 

“I saw her a few days ago,” answered 
Madame de Barli. “We came face to face in 
a shop, and she is prouder and more arrogant 
than ever.” 

The colour flooded Lucienne’s cheeks. 

“Did she speak to you?” she murmured. 

“Speak to me!” Madame de Barli gave a 
short laugh. “My dear, she cut me in the most 
pointed manner.” Then, changing her tone, 
she added: “My dearest, all this talking does 
no good. I can only pray for a more forgiving 
spirit. In the meantime will you light the 
lamp ? There is some mending that I must get 
through this evening for your father.” 


THEIR DAUGHTER’S VISIT 48 


Madame de Barli’s workbasket stood in an 
angle near the window, and, after setting the 
lamp upon the table, Lucienne went over to 
fetch her mother’s work from it. The first 
thing that she drew from the recesses of the 
basket was nothing that needed mending. It 
was a square of canvas with a design of fiowers 
drawn out upon it. Diving again into the 
basket, her finger came in contact with a roll 
of silken skeins, which she held up. 

“Mother,” she cried, “what is this?” 

A look of annoyance crossed Madame de 
Barli’s features when she saw what her daugh- 
ter had found. 

“That is not what I want,” she said, ignoring 
the question. “Put it down, and bring me those 
socks.” 

“You will not answer me,” remarked 
Lucienne, sadly; “but I understand, all the 
same. You are doing work for some shop!” 

“And why not?” returned Madame de Barli, 
in a tone she vainly tried to make indifferent. 
“I am well paid for it.” 

“Well paid — for fancywork!” cried Lu- 
cienne. “Oh, Mother, Mother! And to think 
that you are brought to this !” 


44 


REFINING FIRES 


She could no longer restrain her tears, and 
for a few moments mother and daughter wept 
unrestrainedly together. 

“I want you to tell me the whole, whole 
truth,” said Lucienne, when at last she regained 
her composure. “Some new misfortxme must 
have happened that has been kept from me. I 
can bear anything except being made a 
stranger of by you.” 

“Nothing has happened, dear, I assure you,” 
replied her mother, — “nothing, at least but this. 
Our landlord has raised the rent of these rooms. 
Poor as they are, they suit us; we have grown 
used to them, and your father would miss the 
Luxembourg Gardens if we had to leave the 
neighbourhood. Indeed I have not the strength 
nor the energy to make a move, and so we have 
decided to try to pay the extra rent.” 

“How much is it?” asked Lucienne. 

“Two hundred francs — ^less than I would 
have paid for a hat in the olden days.” 

“Mother,” said Lucienne quickly and firmly, 
“you must let me pay this sum for you. Raoul 
is generous to me. He gives me plenty of 
money, and never asks me how it is spent.” 

Lucienne, forseeing a refusal, went on; 


THEIR DAUGHTER’S VISIT 45 


“Don’t refuse me. Mother! You asked me 
just now if my life was happy. How can it 
be when you treat me like this? Don’t make 
me hate it more than I do already.” 

“You know, Lucienne, you are asking an 
impossibility,” replied her mother, coldly. “We 
would far rather beg our bread in the streets 
than accept your husband’s money in charity.” 

“But, Mother, in his heart I am certain that 
he would wish it.” 

“That makes no difference. When he asks 
to help us, you can tell him that some day he 
may pay for a pauper’s grave for us; but as 
long as we have a voice to refuse his charity 
we will do so.” 

Lucienne could not answer. Her mother’s 
words were cruel, but her tone was final and 
admitted of no discussion. Sick at heart, she 
began mechanically to fold up the canvas, when 
a label sewn to one corner caught her attention, 
and she paused for an instant to examine it. 
“To be returned at latest December 23,” it 
ran. 

“When must this cushion be finished. 
Mother?” she asked abruptly. 

“Leave it alone, Lucienne,” replied her 


46 REFINING FIRES 

mother. “Surely enough has been said about 
it.” 

For a moment Lucienne paused, undecided; 
then, taking a piece of paper, she rolled the 
work in it, and laid the parcel with her cloak 
upon the sofa. 

“What are you doing?” asked her mother. 

“The only thing that I can do to help you,” 
said Lucienne. “You are not fit to toil over 
any kind of work; and, though you will not 
take my husband’s money, you cannot refuse 
what I earn myself.” 

“But, Lucienne, what will Raoul say?” 

“I can manage that,” replied Lucienne. 

And as she spoke her father’s step was heard 
outside. His evening’s work had served only 
to deepen the cloud upon his brow; and he 
approached the fire moodily, refusing his wife’s 
offer of a seat. 

“I think,” said Lucienne, “that I had better 
be going.” 

“Come, then,” answered her father. “I will 
take you down to the Place Saint- Sulpice and 
see you into a carriage.” 

Lucienne rose at once and put on her cloak. 
When coming in, its folds had served to hide 


THEIR DAUGHTER’S VISIT 47 


a parcel. So now they did the same; and 
Madame de Barli’s tremulous “good-bye” 
expressed the thanks that she did not dare to 
speak. 

Lucienne’s maid was waiting up for her 
mistress, but she was not kept long in attend- 
ance upon her. Once alone, Lucienne wrapped 
herself in a warm dressing-gown, then threw 
herself on her knees and prayed long and 
fervently. When her devotions were concluded 
she did not go to bed. Passing into the 
drawing-room, she relit one of the lamps that 
the servants had put out, and drew a chair close 
beside it. 

Outside, the carriages passed up and down 
the street, the lights of their lamps mingling 
with those that shone in other windows. But 
gradually the noises lessened; one by one the 
lights died out; the great city became silent and 
dark for a few short hours; then the traffic 
began again. The chill light of a winter’s dawn 
came to drown the flickering lights that still 
burned dimly on the lamp-posts, but through 
it all the light in Lucienne’s drawing-room kept 
bright. She had hardly stirred during all those 
long hours; only her fingers moved imce^^- 


48 


REFINING FIRES 


ingly, and now and again the head of the bent 
figure was turned aside. The silks with which 
the lonely watcher embroidered were delicate 
and fine, and if a tear had fallen upon them it 
might have tarnished their lustre. 


CHAPTER V 


EAOUL^S DEPENDENCE 

Raoul Mauvoisin had promised to return 
early from his visit to the country, and by ten 
o’clock everything was ready for him in the 
cosy, little apartment which ought to have been 
such a happy home. Lucienne had bathed her 
eyes, and dressed herself with even greater care 
than usual, so as to hide all traces of her night’s 
vigil. The canvas work that had occupied her 
for so many hours was hidden away; but, even 
so, her fingers were not idle. As she waited for 
her husband she was making a dress for a poor 
child, and all the while her mind was busy with 
a plan for helping a struggling artist in whom 
she had succeeded in interesting Raoul. They 
had paid a visit to his studio together, and 
Lucienne had hoped that this might rouse her 
husband’s interest, and that works of charity 
might come to be a bond between them. 

49 


50 


REFINING FIRES 


She was deeply engrossed in such castles 
in the air as these when a sharp knock at the 
door announced the return of the master of the 
house. Throwing down her work, Lucienne 
ran out to meet him. 

“BrrI I am coldf’ he cried, swinging his 
arms together. “The heating apparatus in the 
train was out of order, and by bad luck I just 
hit on a cab without a hot water tin.” 

“Come in quickly, then,” said Lucienne. 
“There is a good fire in the sitting-room.” 

She pulled a low chair to the hearth, and 
Raoul threw himself into it. 

“That’s better,” he said. “I was half frozen. 
Why, I don’t believe I’ve even said good- 
morning to you!” he went on, and he put his 
arm caressingly round his wife’s shoulder. 

“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” said 
Lucienne. “Tell me what you did.” 

“It was not enjoyable,” replied Raoul, 
drawing to him the bowl of violets that had been 
bought for his special delectation, and burying 
his face in their sweetness. “La Chmaie is not 
a bad fellow, but one soon has enough of him.” 

“Was there no one else there?” asked 
Lucienne. 


RAOUL’S DEPENDENCE 51 


“Not a soul, worse luck! I had to bear the 
brunt of his conversation, and he is a talker 
if ever there was one.” 

“And you had to listen all day, poor you!” 
returned Lucienne, laughing. 

“Poor me indeed ! I had to listen all day and 
half the night. And to such talk!” 

“Well, I hope the shooting made up for it?” 

“Not in the least, I assure you. We did not 
see more than two hares, and they were at such 
a distance that even La Chenaie, good shot as 
he is, could not touch them. Eventually, I 
shot a brace of partridges ; and, after walking 
goodness knows how many miles, we got home, 
frozen and exhausted, coated with mud to our 
eyes. And you, Lucienne — what did you do 
with yourself?” 

“I went to your mother’s ‘At Home,’ as we 
arranged, and then I dined with my own 
parents.” 

A look of annoyance came over Raoul’s face. 

“I hope they are well,” he said formally, 
speaking with an elfort. 

Lucienne shook her head. 

“My mother has a bad cough, and my father 
was not looking well either.” 


52 


REFINING FIRES 


Raoul made no further comment, but began 
fidgeting with the burning logs. 

“By the way,” said Lucienne after a 
moment’s silence, “your mother told me to tell 
you that she would expect you to lunch to-day.” 

“Does she expect me to turn out again when 
I have only just got home? That’s rather 
too much,” remarked Raoul, impatiently. 
“What did you say to her?” 

“I said I would give you the message. You 
can do exactly as you choose about going or 
not.” 

“I’d much rather not.” 

“Then don’t go. I am delighted that you 
are going to stay with me for once. I will 
send Julien to let your mother know. Shall I 
tell him to say that we shall go and see her 
to-night?” 

“Yes, to-night will be much better.” 

Lucienne rang the bell; but when the foot- 
man answered it, instead of giving the message, 
Raoul told him to go away and to come back 
in five minutes. 

“After all, I think it would be better to 
write a line,” he said to his wife. “My mother 
might not like a verbal message.” 


RAOUL’S DEPENDENCE 53 


“That’s true,” she replied. “A note would 
be more considerate.” 

Rising, Lucienne collected writing materials 
and laid them before Raoul. He took up the 
pen and dipped it into the ink; but, instead of 
beginning to write, he held it undecidedly over 
the paper. 

“I say, Lucienne,” he exclaimed after a 
moment’s hesitation, “as my mother spoke to 
you, don’t you think you ought to send the 
answer? Yes, I am sure it would be better 
for you to write than for me.” 

An ironical smile played for a moment round 
Lucienne’s lips. 

“Do you think it matters much who writes?” 
she said. “Can’t you say, ‘My dear Mother, I 
have only just returned home, and shall there- 
fore go and pay you my respects this evening 
instead of at lunch time, as you so kindly 
suggest. I write this line to remind you that, 
although at a distance, my heart is always with 
you’?” 

“How very clever you are!” said Raoul, 
admiringly. “I should never have hit on so 
pretty a way of putting things.” 

“That is all very well,” she. answered; “but 


REFINING FIRES 


S5 

I should like to know when you are ever at a 
loss for a pretty speech?” 

“Often indeed,” Raoul assured her, laugh- 
ingly. “But honestly, Lucienne, I wish you 
would write this note yourself.” 

“You are very unreasonable,” said Lucienne, 
taking up the pen unwillingly. “The truth 
is that I spoil you.” 

“You are a treasure, a jewel!” 

She could not resist his coaxing; and when 
the footman returned she handed him the note 
that she herself had written. 

Raoul had risen from his seat, and was 
standing with his back to the mantelpiece. 

“Then my mother was not annoyed when 
she heard that I was not going to her ‘At 
Home’?” he questioned. 

“No, not when she heard where you had gone 
instead.” 

“Had she many people?” 

“Not whilst I was there. No one came in 
before I left except Louise and a Madame 
Gerard.” 

“Madame Gerard,” repeated Raoul — “the 
old lady who has been at Moscow?” 

“She is not very old,” said Lucienne, “but 


RAOUL’S DEPENDENCE 55 


she is probably the one you mean, for I heard 
them talking about Russia.” 

“Sure to be the one, then. A hideous old 
thing, like a bat.” 

“Raoul, you are too bad ! She is not as ugly 
as all that, and she seemed to be so kind.” 

“The kindest creature in the world. She and 
I used to be great friends. Let us go and see 
her this afternoon.” 

“That would be nice,” answered Lucienne. 

Suddenly Raoul stooped and looked at his 
wife. 

“Aren’t you very pale?” he asked, turning 
her face toward him. “What’s wrong, dear? 
You are not ill, are you?” 

“Not in the least, thank you!” replied 
Lucienne, flushing slightly. “It is nothing. 
The weather has been trying lately, and I am 
rather tired. That is all.” 

“I say, Lucienne,” he resumed, “as we are 
going to Madame Gerard’s, we might as well 
pay some other visits, too.” 

Raoul took a pencil from his pocket and 
jotted down some names on the back of an 
old letter. All at once he paused, and began 
toying with the pencil as though he had sud- 


56 


REFINING FIRES 


denly remembered something disagreeable. 
Lucienne, who had taken up her sewing again, 
did not notice the change that had come over 
him, until he murmured his thoughts half 
aloud. 

“Well?” she asked, inquiringly. “Is there 
anything wrong?” 

“No, only — look here, Lucienne ! What do 
you think my mother will say when she hears 
that I have been paying visits after refusing 
her invitation?” 

“Surely she could not object when we are 
going to her this evening.” 

“But that is just what I am afraid she will 
do.” 

“I think you make her out too exacting.” 

“My dear, I know what she is, and I don’t 
want to do anything to annoy her.” 

“Then let us put off the visits until to- 
morrow.” 

“I am engaged for to-morrow. If only your 
note had not gone!” 

“But it has gone; it went half an hour ago.” 

Raoul said nothing more; and, although 
Lucienne knew what he was hoping for, she 
also kept silence. 


RAOUL’S DEPENDENCE 57 


“What would you say to my going to lunch, 
all the same?” he suggested at last; but his 
tone showed that he was ashamed of his own 
suggestion. 

Still Lucienne was silent. 

“It is the only way that I can see to get out 
of it,” he went on. 

“It would have been more considerate if you 
had made up your mind sooner what you 
wanted to do,” said Lucienne in a low voice. 

“I wish to goodness I had,” replied Raoul. 
“It is most annoying.” 

Again there was a pause. 

“Anyhow, I must decide now. It is nearly 
time to start, if I do go. Can’t you advise me, 
Lucienne, dear?” 

“Surely you can decide such a little thing 
for yourself.” She could not keep a touch of 
contempt from her voice, and Raoul heard and 
felt it. 

“Very well, then; I suppose I’d better go,” 
he said. “But I shall stay only a short time. 
Will you be ready to start by three o’clock, if I 
come for you then?” 

“Quite ready,” replied Lucienne, “at what- 
ever time you wish.” 


58 


REFINING FIRES 


“Then let us say half -past two.” 

“I shall be ready.” 

He laid his hand apologetically upon her 
shoulder. 

When he had left her, Lucienne sat white 
and silent. 

“How can I mind such pin-pricks as this,” 
she murmured at length, “after the real wounds 
that I have had to bear?” 

She sighed deeply. Then, putting away the 
poor clothes she had been sewing, she took out 
the canvas work and settled down to embroider 
at it again. 

By half-past two she was dressed and ready 
for her husband’s return. Whilst she waited, 
she read again a letter that had just come for 
her. Only a few lines from her mother, telling 
her that a night’s rest had worked wonders for 
the old couple, and that the present and the 
future seemed brighter and more hopeful when 
looked upon by morning light; she begged 
Lucienne to forget what she had seen and heard 
the previous night. 

Such brave and loving words could not fail 
to comfort the devoted daughter ; but, even as 
she read them another note wa^ taken to her. 


RAOUL’S DEPENDENCE 50 


bringing with it a very different message. 
Lucienne recognised the dainty, scented paper, 
and with no pleasurable feelings broke the seal. 
It ran: — 

“My dear Lucienne, — M. de Charolles has 
promised to introduce Raoul to a friend of his 
at four o’clock to-day, so I write this line to tell 
you that he cannot accompany you on the visits 
you wish to pay this afternoon. I told him that 
I would let you know this, as it seems that the 
correspondence between our two households 
rests with us. Do not imagine, however, that 
Raoul will think better of this decision, as he 
had the good sense to do when you thought fit 
to refuse my invitation for him this morning. — 
Your mother, 

“Therese Mauvoisin." 

Lucienne rolled the note into a little ball and 
threw it into the fire. She was very pale, and 
her lips were folded tightly. For a moment 
she sat with closed eyes, as though offering this 
new humiliation to God, who allowed it to come 
upon her. A photograph of Raoul stood upon 
an easel close beside her. He had given it to 
her when they were first engaged, telling her 


60 


REFINING FIRES 


to keep it near her until the original should 
have the right never to leave her. The original 
had the right now to stay with her, but how 
seldom he availed himself of it ! 

She went quietly to her room, and, taking 
off the beautiful clothes that she had donned to 
please her husband, she told her maid to give 
her the plain gown and the cloak and hat she 
had worn on the previous night. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE OUTCASTS 

In the early education of Lucienne de Barli, 
the teachings of religion had not been neg- 
lected. Her parents were not what in France 
are called “devotes,” but they had their daugh- 
ter properly instructed, and from her childhood 
she had been aware that the first of all duties 
is to God. It was not, however, until after her 
marriage that the fullest consolations of 
religion were brought home to her. Her baby 
was born a few months after the catastrophe 
which ruined the happiness of so many lives, 
and for many weeks it seemed uncertain 
whether she herself would succeed in struggling 
back from the valley of death, weighted down 
as she was by the triple loss of her child, of her 
fortune, and one might almost say of her 
parents. Even when youth asserted itself, and 
her life was pronoimced out of danger, there 
61 


62 


REFINING FIRES 


were many days of weakness and weariness, 
which even her husband’s attentions failed to 
shorten. Flowers, fruit, the latest books — 
everything that he could think of was taken to 
the sick room; but though, to please him, she 
tried to listen when he read the newest novel or 
the most exciting story of a current magazine, 
nothing really roused her interest. 

One day he gave a parcel of books to one of 
the maids who did not usually wait on her 
mistress, and bade her take them to Madame’s 
room. The girl, who had been only a few days 
in the house, fulfilled her errand shyly. Whilst 
she unfastened the parcel and laid the books 
within reach of the invalid, she could not help 
casting looks of pity on the weary, white face. 

“Madame will enjoy reading these nice 
books,” she said timidly. 

Lucienne smiled faintly. 

“I am tired of reading,” she answered. 
“They never seem to have anything interesting 
at the library.” And she turned over the new 
selection listlessly. 

The girl looked at her in surprise. 

“When I was with the Marquise de Vigne- 
•olles she used to get a number of very beautiful 


THE OUTCASTS 


63 


books from the Faubourg Library,” she said, 
still shyly. “Sometimes she used to suffer great 
pain, and then when I read to her she said it 
made her forget her suffering.” 

“What kind of books did you read?” asked 
Lucienne. 

The girl was so earnest that, in spite of 
herself, her mistress was interested in what she 
was saying. She mentioned several works, and 
Lucienne bade her see if they were to be had 
at the library whose catalogue lay on the 
table. There were novels galore, a small 
selection of travels and biographies, and such 
like books; but Madame de Vignerolles’ taste 
had evidently been of a different kind, for none 
of her favourites were to be found. 

“If Madame would allow me,” began the 
maid eagerly, “I can get her a catalogue from 
the Faubourg Library. Madame la Marquise 
used often to send me to change her books.” 

“Never mind, thank you!” replied Lucienne. 
“I dare say that one of those Monsieur has 
chosen for me will do very well.” 

The girl felt herself dismissed. But the 
following day, happening to pass the library, 
she bought a catalogue with her own money. 


64 


REFINING FIRES 


and waited for an opportunity to give it to her 
mistress. Lucienne, who had forgotten all 
about the incident, was surprised when, a few 
days later, the girl offered her the catalogue; 
and, more for the sake of not hurting her 
feelings than from any desire to read the books, 
she marked the titles of a few, and told the maid 
she might get them for her. 

It so chanced — or, rather. Providence 
ordained — that the chosen books were out, and 
two others were sent in their places. One of 
these Lucienne had never heard of, and there 
was no author’s name upon its title-page ; only 
a motto, a single line, but Lucienne ’s attention 
was caught by it : “What doth a man know who 
hath not suffered?” The reading of this 
anonymous little work was a turning-point in 
Lucienne’s whole existence. The book told of 
the anguish and desolation of a soul who, after 
years of agony, had found the only consolation 
that the world holds. “Come to Me all you 
that labour and are burdened,” says Ovu* Lord, 
“and you shall find rest.” The unknown soul 
had sought and found. Lucienne learned from 
her to look at least to the light. 

Other books followed the first one— some 


THE OUTCASTS 


65 


purely spiritual, others telling of the life and 
works of saints and holy people — and from 
them Lucienne learned that to serve the poor 
was not only the duty but also the privilege of 
the rich. She could not escape the crosses that 
were laid on her shoulders; but, in trying to 
ease the crosses of others, she forgot at times 
the weight of her own. 

She had begun, even before her strength had 
come back to her, to work for the poor, and 
lately she had taken to visiting them in their 
own homes. On the afternoon that Raoul, at 
his mother’s instigation, had refused to accom- 
pany her on the round of visits that he himself 
had proposed to pay, Lucienne determined to 
go to see some of the poor people in whose lives 
she had learned to take so deep an interest. 

The pale rays of a winter’s sun were lighting 
the street as she went out, and the feeling of 
freshness and freedom did her good after the 
trying morning that she had passed. After 
walking some distance, she called a cab and 
bade the driver take her to the Rue de Temple, 
where she dismissed him, and threaded her way 
on foot through the narrow and intricate streets 
of the district. It was a miserable quarter. 


66 


REFINING FIRES 


Openings off the streets led to alleys that were 
narrower still. Lucienne turned up one of 
these that crept in between two shops and 
was so dark that she was obliged to feel her way 
along. Soon she came to a broken staircase, 
flight after flight of which she climbed, till at 
last she reached, six stories from the ground, a 
landing off which two doors opened. One of 
these led into an attic, the other into a loft, 
which was used as a store-room. 

Lucienne knocked at the former, and was 
immediately bidden to enter. The attic was, 
like many of its kind, poor and bare; but it was 
at least light and airy, having large windows 
that looked out over the roofs of the neigh- 
bouring houses. A woman was seated, propped 
up with cushions, in an armchair near a table. 
She was a widow whom Lucienne had 
befriended at the time of her husband’s death. 
For a while she had been able to support 
herself and her two children by sewing; but 
lately her health had given way, and, had it 
not been for the charity of her benefactress, she 
would have died from hunger and neglect. The 
armchair and its cushions, the stove and fuel, 
the nourishment needed to bring back the poor 


THE OUTCASTS 


67 


woman’s health, had all been provided by 
Lucienne; but the invalid was hardly more 
thankful for the material aid than she was for 
the sympathy with which her visitor listened 
when she spoke of her husband and the happy 
little home that had been theirs for ten years. 

Lucienne had been listening for some time 
to the poor widow’s account of her troubles, 
when she suddenly became aware of a noise 
that came apparently from the landing 
without. 

“What is that?” she asked. “Does someone 
want to come in?” 

“Oh, no, Madame !” replied the widow. “We 
have a new neighbour on the landing, I am 
sorry to say; and he coughs like that all day 
long and half the night as well.” 

“But that is not coughing,” observed 
Lucienne, as the muffled sound of words came 
to her through the wooden partition. 

“He is always going on like that,” said the 
widow. “If he is not coughing he is grumbling 
or calling out for something. The porter comes 
up now and again to see to him, but he is never 
satisfied. I can’t think how the landlord can 
let him stay there ; he ought to be in a hospital.” 


68 


REFINING FIRES 


“Poor creature!” said Lucieime, pityingly. 
“How dreadful for him to be alone, if he is 
ill!” 

Later, when she bade her protegee good-bye, 
she stood for a moment on the landing, won- 
dering where it could be that the sick man lay. 

On each side of the attic, where the roof of 
the house sloped down to the eaves, there were 
two holes, little more than cupboards, and the 
groans apparently came from one of these. 
Lucienne had to peer here and there before 
she could make out the door. It stood flush 
with the woodwork, but it was so old and 
dilapidated that the interior of the hole was 
partly visible from the outside — at least to eyes 
that had grown accustomed to the darkness. A 
single pane of glass, forming a skylight 
amongst the rafters, showed that the place was 
Dare of all furniture ; but the outline of a human 
form was silhouetted, lying on a heap of dirty 
straw. 

The man lay with his back towards the door; 
but even had he looked in her direction he could 
not have seen Madame Mauvoisin in the dim 
light. One of his legs seemed to be doubled 
under him, the other was stretched out straight 


THE OUTCASTS 


69 


and motionless. It was evident that he could 
not move it without pain ; and the overpowering 
atmosphere of the garret told that mortification 
had set in. His head moved restlessly from 
side to side ; and all the time he kept raising his 
hands, stretching them out, then wringing them 
as though in great distress, whilst stifled cries 
for water were ever on his lips. 

There was something here worse than mere 
poverty or even than suffering. Lucienne 
could not help shuddering as she turned again 
to the widow’s attic, and reopened the door. 

“The man next door keeps begging for 
something to drink,” she said. “May I borrow 
a glass from you and a drop of water to take 
to him?” 

“Madame must not go in there 1” cried the 
woman, starting from her chair. 

“No, no!” said Lucienne. “You are ill. I 
will take it myself. But to please you I will 
leave the door open, so you can see for yourself 
that he does me no harm.” 

With this the woman, who was herself 
hardly able to stand, had to be content; and 
Lucienne passed out again on to the landing, 
carrying the glass. There were no fastenings 


70 


REFINING FIRES 


to the garret door, and she gently pushed it 
open. Stepping inside, with head bowed to 
escape the rafters, she said softly: 

“Here is something for you to drink.” 

With a startled movement the man turned 
on his side. 

“Who is there?” he asked quickly. 

But Lucienne made no answer. A cry of 
horror escaped her lips. The glass fell from 
her hand, and broke on the floor. She staggered 
hack, stretched out her arms, groping blindly 
for support; and, finding none, she fell heavily 
forward on her knees. 

The sick man had started upright, but his 
broken leg prevented his making any further 
movement. 

“What is the matter?” he panted. “Who 
are you?” 

She raised her face from between her hands, 
and for an instant their eyes met. There was 
horror, loathing, in hers; but in his — amaze- 
ment, the most awful terror, and despair. 

“Lucienne!” 

She felt more than heard the whisper of her 
name. Then all was silence in the garret. 


CHAPTER yil 


THE ANGEL OF MERCY 

It was the man who first broke silence. 

“It’s come at last! I’m done for, after all; 
for I cannot get away.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Lucienne; and, 
although her voice sounded far away in her 
own ears, the effort of speaking brought her 
gradually to herself. Holding to the wall for 
support, she drew herself to her feet. 

What a sight was before her ! There he lay, 
dragged down by his own act to the lowest 
degree of misery and destitution ; bound to the 
wretched heap of straw that he called a bed; 
longing for a drop of water to assuage the 
burning thirst that tortured him. At her 
mercy, at her very feet, was he who, for his 
own selfish enjoyments, had sacrificed his 
friends, his honour, his very soul — ^he, the crim- 
inal, the thief, for whom search had been made 
71 


72 


REFINING FIRES 


in every country of Europe, who had baffled 
the skill of the greatest detectives — ^he, Pedro 
Lozares ! 

His agony at being discovered was so intense 
that, even in her own agitation, Lucienne saw 
and noticed it. 

“Hush, hush !” she cried at last. “You need 
not be afraid of me. I will not expose you.” 

Lozares tvu-ned upon her a face ghastly 
white from fear and anguish. 

“Do you mean it ? But no, you cannot meani 
to spare me! Why should you?” 

“Why should I seek to have you punished 
by men,” she said, “when I see the state you 
have come to through the justice of God?” 

His head fell upon his breast and he was 
silent, bowed with shame before her. 

Lucienne dragged herself to the door; but 
on gaining the landing she suddenly remem- 
bered the errand which had taken her to that 
accursed bedside. She had gone to relieve the 
sufferings of a fellow-being, and she could not 
go away and leave her task undone. The mug 
that the sick man had pushed away from him 
had rolled to where she stood; and, picking it 
up, she carried it to the attic next door. 


THE ANGEL OF MERCY^ 73 


The widow was frightened and distressed at 
the change that had come over her benefactress ; 
but Lucienne explained away her pallor, saying 
she found the sick man was a person she had 
known before, and in her surprise at seeing him 
she had dropped and broken the glass. Now 
she sought only to refill the man’s own mug; 
and, having done this, she left the room again. 

Lozares could hardly believe his eyes when, 
a moment later, he saw Lucienne returning. 
Then for an instant he forgot everything in the 
overpowering craving for the water she had 
brought. He seized the mug, and swallowed 
its contents greedily in one long gulp. 
Lucienne did not wait to see him finish it. 
Without casting another look upon him, she 
moved to the door; but in the passage she could 
not help hearing the words he murmured to 
himself, yet half aloud. 

“Poor child!” he said. “Is it possible that 
it is from your hand that I have received such 
a return for the past?” 

Once in the street, Lucienne thought she 
would soon regain her self-command. But the 
struggle she had gone through was too severe ; 
and, in spite of the fresh air playing on her 


74 


REFINING FIRES 


face, she felt as though everything were turning 
round, and her knees were trembling under 
her. No vehicle of any kind was in sight; and 
as soon as she reached a clean-looking shop she 
went in and asked if she might sit down whilst 
someone called a cab. A few minutes later 
found her rolling homewards along the streets 
that she had walked down with such very 
different feelings only a short time before. 

Raoul had been at home for over an hour 
when his wife returned. He was waiting 
impatiently for her, but the sight of her pale 
face and wearied air made him forget the 
momentary annoyance that her absence had 
occasioned. 

“What is the matter?” he inquired quickly. 
“What has happened to you?” 

“I have such a bad headache !” she answered, 
truthfully enough. 

Her husband frowned. In his heart he 
reproached himself for his behaviour of the 
morning, and he thought it was wiser to ask no 
questions as to the cause of his wife’s 
indisposition. 

“I wish you could get stronger,” he 
said. “The least thing seems to upset you.” 


THE ANGEL OF MERCYj 75 


Lucienne did not answer, but she pressed 
his arm lightly. 

“Stay with me for a little while this 
evening,” she said. “That will do me more 
good than anything.” 

“An easy remedy,” said Raoul, bending to 
kiss her pale cheek. “Let us have dinner now, 
and I will read to you afterwards until you feel 
inclined to go to sleep; then I’ll look into the 
club for a bit.” 

“Thank you!” said Lucienne. It was very 
seldom that she asked a favour from her hus- 
band, but she felt to-night that she could not 
bear to be left alone. 

Raoul picked out all the most interesting 
things that he could find in the paper; but, 
although the sound of his voice soothed her, 
she could not bring her mind to follow what 
he read. The figure of a man was before her 
eyes as plainly as though she really saw him — 
a wretched, haggard, awful figure, that kept 
staring at her in horror and despair. 

Lucienne was tired out when at last she 
went to bed, but even then she could not sleep. 
The misery of those days, now five years past, 
came back to her. She seemed to suffer over 


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REFINING FIRES 


again the anguish that had struck her then. 
She heard the words that had told her of the 
catastrophe. She saw Raoul, white to the lips, 
pacing the room like a wild beast in a cage. 
She saw Monsieur and Madame Mauvoisin, 
and heard the words they flung at her. She 
saw her own parents ruined, penniless. She 
seemed to hold in her arms the hfeless body of 
the child that for one short hour had been hers. 

All the sorrows that the cowardly, treach- 
erous erstwhile friend had brought upon her 
called for judgment against him. .Yet this 
man, her worst enemy, was ill — perhaps dying. 
He was alone, abandoned in his dire need even 
by his boon companions. He had come to the 
lowest depths of poverty and destitution, and 
he was suffering torture. It was not chance 
that had thrown him across Lucienne’s path. 
Surely God Himself had directed her steps to 
that house out of all the many thousands 
wherein the poor of Paris dwell. Perhaps God 
intended her to save his life ; perhaps the fate 
of his immortal soul lay in her hands. At these 
thoughts Lucienne shuddered. She had 
promised not to give him up to justice, but 
more than that she could not bring herself to 


THE ANGEL OF MERCY 77 


do. Vainly she tried to put the thought of his 
suffering from her; vainly she tried to pray. 

“O my God,” she cried at last, “have pity on 
me!” and she raised her crucifix to her lips. 
“I vi^ish to do what is right. Teach me how 
Thou didst pardon Thy murderers. Help me 
to pardon my enemy.” 

Tears would have been a relief, but her eyes 
were dry, her lips parched and burning. 
Gradually, merciful sleep crept over her; the 
struggle with herself was at an end; her heart 
was at peace. But even as she slept the voice 
of Lozares sounded in her ears, and the words 
he used were the same as those used by another 
— by One who forgave far more than Lucienne 
was called upon to forgive: “I thirst!” 

When morning came, Lucienne foresaw a 
difiiculty that she had overlooked up to this. 
It did not seem right to keep her discovery a 
secret from her husband; but, on the other 
hand, she feared for several reasons to tell him 
all. She had given her word that no 
punishment should come upon Lozares as a 
consequence of her visit. Would Raoul feel 
bound to respect this promise? And even if 
she could persuade him not to seek directly for 


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REFINING FIRES 


vengeance, could she trust him to keep so 
important a secret? No; he was no more 
capable of keeping Lucienne’s secret than he 
was of understanding the struggle she had 
gone through or the sacrifice she had decided 
to make. She did not like to act in so important 
a matter without her husband’s sanction, and 
yet it was not possible to ask for it. Fortu- 
nately, she had his consent to visit the poor, 
and with that she must be satisfied. 

Four days passed before she felt able to carry 
out her resolutions. She had by that time got 
over, to some extent, the physical shock that 
her discovery had caused ; and, taking 
advantage of Raoul’s absence, she went out 
early so as to hear Mass and receive Holy 
Communion in the Church of Notre-Dame des 
Victoires. Thus strengthened, she set out on 
her mission of charity. Now that she had 
decided what to do, she did not hesitate; but 
she could not control the feeling of repugnance 
and of fear that came over her, and her knees 
were trembling as she mounted the steep 
staircase of the tenement house. 

Lozares lay in the same place. It seemed 
as though he had not moved since she last saw 


THE ANGEL OF MERCY, 79 


him, only there were signs that his leg had 
become worse in the few days that had passed. 
Lucienne entered the garret noiselessly, and 
stood for a moment gazing down with irrepres-^ 
sible feelings of disgust on what had once been 
a prosperous, happy, self-respecting, and 
respected member of society. Could she bring 
herself to go forward, to touch him, to minister 
to him? Great drops of perspiration stood out 
upon her forehead. She wrung her hands 
together and felt as though she was suffocating. 

“Pedro!” 

The sick man turned quickly round, and 
his eyes fell on Lucienne as she stood under the 
skylight. 

“You have come back — ^you!” he cried 
hoarsely. “What has brought you here again?” 

“I have come,” she said in a low voice, “to 
tell you that one at least of those you injured 
so cruelly has forgiven you.” 

He gazed at her for a moment as though her 
words conveyed no meaning to him. Then all 
at once he burst into tears. During her first 
visit, his bodily sufferings and the misery of 
his surroundings had failed to excite Lucienne’s 
pity; for she could look upon them only as a 


80 


REFINING FIRES 


just return for the past. Now, however, his 
agony of remorse touched her heart. 

“O Pedro, Pedro, how your crime has found 
you out!” 

He threw up his hands in despair. 

“You and yours have been well avenged.” 

“Do not speak of vengeance,” answered 
Lucienne. “We — I have forgiven you.” 

She had brought a bottle of wine and some 
other things, which she proceeded to lay beside 
him on the floor. He watched her every 
movement; but he could not speak, for his 
voice was choked with tears. A cursory glance 
at the injured limb showed plainly that medical 
skill was needed. 

“Have you seen a doctor?” she asked. 

The sick man shook his head. 

“It is useless,” he said. “He could do 
nothing for me. I am too far gone. Besides, 
I don’t want to live. What is there left for me 
to live for? Tell me,” he went on, “tell me 
about your parents. Are they alive, or have I 
their deaths to account for as well as everything 
else?” 

“No, no, thank God! They are alive.” 

“Do they know?” 


THE ANGEL OF MERCY 81 


“No; I have told no one that I found you.” 

He gave a deep sigh of relief, and looked 
up at the girlish figure beside him. A ray of 
sunshine fell through the skylight, turning 
Lucienne’s hair into a golden aureole. Her 
face was pale from the trouble of mind she had 
so lately gone through, but the victory she had 
gained over herself had left an expression of 
indescribable peace and purity on her features. 
She looked like an angel of mercy come down 
from heaven to visit the haunts of shame and 
sorrow. 

Lozares threw himself back on his bed, 
striking his brow with his hands. 

“What a wretch, what a miserable wretch I 
have been !” he cried in anguish. 

Lucienne knelt down beside him. 

“Hush, Pedro! — hush!” she said. “You are 
exhausting yourself. It is God who has sent 
me to you — you must do as I tell you. Listen 
to me now. I am going to fetch a doctor to 
you.” 

She moved as though about to get up from 
her knees ; but, without the slightest warning, 
Lozares threw himself upon her. She felt her 
arm seized and held as though in a vise, and. 


82 


REFINING FIRES 


despite herself, she was dragged down across 
the bed of straw. His gasping breath was in 
her ear. She saw his free hand tearing at his 
chest, his eyes started from his head, and his 
features were moved in violent contortions. 

Lucienne was terrified at the sight of such 
a paroxysm. She struggled vainly to free 
herself from his grasp; and, failing to do so, 
she called aloud for help. The widow had 
spoken of her intention of leaving the garret, 
and it was evident that she had carried out her 
intention. All was silence except when Lozares 
groaned and gasped for breath, and Lucienne 
thought that he was dying. Even so, his grasp 
upon her did not lessen, and she was powerless 
to help him. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE ABSCONDER^S RESCUE 

It seemed to Lucienne that she had been 
kneeling in the invalid’s grasp for an hour, 
but in reality only a few moments had elapsed 
before the force of the attack began to lessen. 
Lozares’ features relaxed, his breath came 
more easily, and Lucienne was able to rise from 
her cramped position. 

“Don’t go!” the sick man murmured, in so 
weak a voice that his words were scarcely 
audible. “I am better now. It is passing 
away for this time.” 

“What was it?” asked Lucienne, still 
affrighted. 

“I don’t know. I have had several such 
attacks. Last night I thought I should surely 
die in one of them.” 

“Die!” repeated Lucienne. “O Pedro, are 
you ready to die — to appear before the judg- 
ment-seat of God?” 


83 


84 


REFINING FIRES 


Shudderingly he shook his head. 

“I must go and fetch a doctor,” she said. 
“Let me also bring a priest to you.” 

He tried to speak, but a fresh attack of 
breathlessness came upon him. 

“A priest — first 1” 

She could hardly hear the words; but, 
guessing at them, she repeated them; and 
Lozares nodded that she had heard aright. She 
was afraid to leave him, but still more was she 
afraid to let him die in his sins; and as soon as 
the attack began to subside she started on her 
errand. 

In the parish churches in Paris it is the 
custom for one of the priests to be always 
within call in case of need, and Lucienne, 
driving as fast as a cab could take her, was able 
in a few minutes to deliver her message to the 
curate in charge of St. Joseph’s. From him 
she obtained the address of a doctor, and, 
leaving her cab so as to enable the priest to 
reach Lozares’ bedside as soon as possible, she 
continued her way on foot. 

In a few words she told of the state in which 
she had found the sick man. The doctor was 
free to accompany her at once, and as they 


THE ABSCONDER’S RESCUE 85 


walked together to the house, where the priest 
had preceded them, the former questioned her 
as to the cause of the attack she described. 

“I know no more about it than you do, 
doctor,” replied Lucienne. “Finding that his 
leg was injured, I went to visit him; and then, 
when this attack suddenly came on, I was 
terrified and came for you at once.” 

“What a place for any one to live ini” 
exclaimed the doctor, when, after a few 
moments’ walk, they reached their destination, 
and began to mount the dirty, ill-ventilated 
staircase. “We pride oimselves upon our 
sanitation, yet such hotbeds of disease as this 
are allowed to exist!” 

On reaching the garret door they found the 
priest on his knees beside Lozares. The sick 
man’s head lay on the arm of the worn, black 
cassock, and the confessor was bending low to 
catch the faltering words of confession. He 
raised his hand as a sign to the doctor and his 
companion to wait for a moment, hut almost 
immediately he got up and came toward them. 

“I am afraid there is not much for you to do, 
doctor,” he said. “Come in; I am sorry if I 
have kept you waiting,” 


86 


REFINING FIRES 


“Me, yes; but not you, Madame,” said the 
doctor. “You are trying to do too much, and 
unless you rest for awhile I shall have you on 
my hands also.” 

“I am stronger than you would think,” 
replied Lucienne, grateful for his thought of 
her. “But I will do as you tell me. I don’t 
want to hinder you, so I will wait outside ; only 
you must promise to tell me if I can be of any 
service.” 

She went out and seated herself on the stairs. 
The priest, at Lozares’ request, had returned to 
the bedside, and after some time the doctor 
rejoined Lucienne, having finished his exami- 
nation of the patient. 

“Well, doctor,” she asked, in a low voice. 

“His constitution is shattered by his own 
excesses,” replied the doctor; “and poverty has 
finished him off. His leg was broken days ago, 
and now it is past mending. However, he may 
linger on for some time. I can at least relieve 
those attacks of suffocation. They do not come 
from the heart, but are caused chiefly by the 
condition he is in and his surroundings.” Then, 
speaking aloud so that Lozares could hear him, 
he went on: “The first thing to be done is to 


THE ABSCONDER’S RESCUE 87 


get the patient into a clean bed, where the 
injured limb can be properly dressed, and 
where he will be given regular nourishment. 
In short, we must have him taken at once to 
the hospital.” 

“No, no!” cried Lozares, trying to rise. “I 
will not go to the hospital.” 

“Nonsense!” said the doctor, shortly. “If 
you do not care to go for your own sake, you 
must be made to go for the sake of others. That 
leg of yours is a danger in any house, and if 
it is not properly looked after I cannot answer 
for the consequences. It is no use your resist- 
ing, because, willing or no, I shall have to send 
you.” 

Lozares turned to Lucienne. He was too 
weak to argue, but she could not resist the 
pleading in his eyes. 

“What can I do, Pedro?” she whispered, 
understanding what he meant. 

“For God’s sake, don’t let him send me to 
the hospital!” he answered, in the same low 
tone that she alone could hear. “Leave me to 
die if you will, but let me keep my liberty.” 

There was something almost contemptible 
in a man who knew that his days were num- 


88 


REFINING FIRES 


bered clinging like this to liberty, yet to 
Lucienne it was inexpressibly sad. She turned 
to the doctor, doubtful as to the possibility of 
her request being granted. 

“Is it absolutely necessary for this man to 
go to the hospital?” she asked. “Could he not 
be nursed at home? He seems to dread the 
idea of being moved.” 

“At home, Madame 1” replied the doctor. 
“But where is his home? We can hardly 
dignify this hole with such a name.” 

“Of course he must be moved from here,” 
returned Lucienne, quickly. “But the attic 
next door is empty. He could be carried in 
and a Bon Secoms Sister could nurse him.” 

“And who is to pay for all this?” asked the 
doctor. 

“I will,” said Lucienne, quietly. 

The doctor looked up at her sharply. 
Evidently there was something more in this 
case than appeared at first sight. Who was this 
aristocratic-looking lady who was so deeply 
interested in the outcast who lay dying at her 
feet ? It was evident he was no common tramp. 
What link may have bound these two together 
in the past? 


THE ABSCONDER’S RESCUE 89 


“If you are kind enough to see that he is 
properly looked after at home, Madame,” he 
said, “I have no objection. I will write down 
what is necessary, and if you wish me to attend 
the case here I will do so.” 

He pulled out his pocket-book and began to 
write. 

“How can I get all these things at once?” 
cried Lucienne in dismay, when he handed her 
his list. “There is so much to be done — ” * 

The priest, who had been standing by, now 
spoke to Lucienne. 

“Perhaps I could help you,” he said. “I 
know someone who works amongst the poor 
in this district; and I am sure she will under- 
take to look after this man, if you wish.” 

“That •would be kind.” Lucienne felt as 
though a load of care had been lifted from her. 
“I live so long away from here that I could 
not do much myself, and even to superintend 
would mean coming here oftener than I could 
imdertake.” 

“.You need not be uneasy,” said the priest. 
“I can promise that nothing will be neglected 
or overlooked, once my friend takes charge 
here.’' 


90 


REFINING FIRES 


“Will you tell her, please, to have everything 
put to my account?” said Lucienne. “I will 
send you whatever money is needed as soon as 
I go home.” Turning to the doctor, she added : 
“.You will come again? And if he should get 
worse, or if I am needed for anything, will you 
let me know at once?” 

She held out her card, and the doctor took it, 
assuring her that he would do all he could for 
the patient. 

“Lucienne,” said Lozares, in a low voice, 
when she went to bid him good-bye, “give me 
your hand. Let me kiss it !” he pleaded. 

She shook her head. “What am I to call 
you?” she asked, speaking very low. 

“My second name is Manuel,” he replied. 

“Well, good-bye, Manuel!” she said aloud. 
“M. I’Abbe will send someone to you very soon. 
I know that I am leaving you in good hands, 
and I hope you will be very patient.” 

She held out her hand to the priest. “Thank 
you. Father!” she said simply, looking up at 
him. 

But he, holding her hand, spoke fervently. 
“God bless you, my child!” he said. 

Lucienne and the doctor went down the 


THE ABSCONDER’S RESCUE 91 


stairs together, leaving the priest with Lozares. 
It was not so late as Lucienne thought; and, 
finding she had half an hour to spare before 
her husband was due home, she bade the 
coachman drive her back to Notre-Dame des 
Victoires. Benediction had just been given, 
and the church was full of people. The scent 
of incense hung heavily in the air, and as she 
knelt down a boy’s voice rose up clearly. 
“Laudate Dominum, omnes gentes,” he sang. 
“Laudate eum, omnes populi!” 

All at once Lucienne felt that during the 
years that had passed since the fatal day when 
the secret of Lozares was first discovered, her 
heart had never been really pure and free from 
stain, so as to give praise to God as was fitting. 
Now a great weight had rolled away. Her 
forgiveness was complete. At last, in deed as 
well as in word, she could offer up her struggle 
and her victory, joining with the singer and 
saying truly: “Praise be to God !” 


CHAPTER IX 


MADEMOISELLE FANNY 

The season had begun, and as Raoul was 
unwilling ever to refuse an invitation, his wife 
had little time to spare during the weeks that 
followed her discovery of Lozares. Whenever 
she could snatch an hour from the round of 
gaieties in which, to please her husband, her 
life was passed, she spent it with her parents. 
Each time she saw them their poverty struck 
her anew, till there was more pain than pleas- 
ure in the visits. I 

Perhaps the brilliant scenes amongst which^ 
she moved made their surroundings appear 
more sordid than ever; perhaps as their 
strength lessened they had less courage, less 
patience with their lot. It certainly seemed to 
Lucienne that they spoke oftener and more 
bitterly of the past than they had formerly 
done; of their ruin, and of him who was the 
92 


MADEMOISELLE FANNY, 93 


cause of it. When her father called down the 
vengeance of heaven upon his false friend, or 
her mother spoke of the luxuries and pleasures 
that all his ill-gotten gains were purchasing 
for Lozares, the scene in the garret rose up 
before Lucienne, and it was all she could do 
to keep her secret. Yet every word her father 
said showed her more and more the impossi- 
bility of revealing it. In the state of mind he 
was in, nothing could have prevented him from 
giving Lozares up to justice, and her mother 
had too much to bear already to be burdened 
any further. 

It w'as several weeks before Lucienne had 
an afternoon at her own disposal, but on the 
first possible opportunity she started off for 
the Quartier du Temple. On reaching the 
landing at the head of the long stairs, Lucienne 
could hardly believe that she had come to the 
right house. The whole place had been 
scrubbed, and a faint smell of disinfectant 
cleansed the air. The garret had been swept, 
and a store of wood was piled in it, together 
with a table, on which stood several necessities 
for a sick room. 

She knocked at the door of the attic, and a 


94 


REFINING FIRES 


feeble voice bade her enter. Inside, the trans- 
formation was as complete as it was without — 
all might have belonged to a hospital in charge 
of nuns. And the change in the patient himself 
was as thorough as was that of his surround- 
ings. 

Propped up with pillows, deathly white, but 
clean and cared for, Lucienne for the first time 
saw something of the friend whom she had 
known from childhood. The last time she had 
seen him he had indeed been a revolting 
spectacle; yet, curiously enough, in this new, 
more familiar guise, she found him more 
repulsive than ever. This was the man, now 
in comparative comfort and ease, whose 
cowardly self-indulgence, to call it by no harder 
name, had brought all their misfortunes on the 
De Barlis and on Lucienne herself. 

His eyes fell before hers, but she noted that 
their expression had completely changed. He 
no longer looked dazed and terrified, at war 
with himself and with all the worid. He could 
do nothing to repair the past; but at least she 
was assured of his repentance. 

“Are you feeling any better?” asked 
Lucienne. 


MADEMOISELLE FANNYj 95 


“A little, thank you !” he replied. “The pain 
in my leg is much less, thanks to the doctor and 
my kind nurse !” 

“Who looks after you?” asked Lucienne. 

“A nun comes every morning to dress my 
leg,” replied Lozares ; “and a woman who lives 
downstairs brings me my meals and arranges 
the room ; and Mademoiselle F anny comes very 
often to see how things are going on. It was 
she who arranged everything as you see it and 
who superintends it all. Indeed I have all I 
want — all,” he added in a lower voice, “except 
what I would willing give my life to obtain, if 
it were possible,” 

Lucienne understood that he referred to her 
father, but she made no answer. 

“I sometimes think that it is too presump- 
tuous even to think of pardon,” he said 
suddenly. 

“No, no!” replied Lucienne. “God will 
accept your desire for atonement. You must 
hope in His mercy.” 

“Tell me, Lucienne, have you any children?” 

“I had one,” replied Lucienne, in a low voice ; 
“but he is dead.” 

“If God gives you others,” SLent on Lozares, 


96 


REFINING FIRES 


“teach them to deny themselves. Tell them this 
from me, from a man who learned the truth 
from the bitterest experience. For thirty years 
I was honest and honourable, but I had never 
learned the lesson of self-denial. Then I was 
tempted, and in one moment I fell — ” 

“Why dwell on these things?” said Lucienne, 
seeing how much he was overcome. “They are 
past now, thank God, forever.” 

“I must tell you” (it seemed as though he 
was forced to speak). “I was led into 
temptation and I fell. I needed money; but at 
first, believe me, I never thought of betraying 
the trust that your father had placed in me. 
From Marseilles it was very easy for me to get 
to Monte Carlo, and, unfortunately, luck 
favoured me at first. Before the tide turned, 
the gambler’s fever had got hold of me, and 
though I had begun to lose, I could not stop 
playing. In less than a year I had lost over 
four hundred thousand francs. In order to 
pay this I had to borrow — ^nay, to steal from 
your father, and to try and repay this so-called 
loan. I gave myself up more fiercely than ever 
to play. I was no longer able to frequent the 
Casino, having quarrelled with a German there 


MADEMOISELLE FANNJj 97 


who was a noted duellist, and who threatened to 
shoot me if I crossed his path again. The only 
places where I could indulge my passion for 
play were low gambling hells in Marseilles, 
which managed to exist in spite of the police. 
Sometimes luck favoured me, and I was able 
to keep my business going; but before very 
long I had to take from your father’s capital 
to pay him the income which he thought was 
only interest. 

“This had been going on for ten years before 
your marriage, so you can imagine how much 
was left by that time of the sum your father 
had originally confided to me. Then came the 
question of your fortune. If your husband had 
not been willing to take the six per cent, that 
I offered him through your father, I should 
have been found out at once. Looking back, 
I do not knowTiow I dared give you a present, 
how I dared sit at your table and break bread 
with you all, unconscious victims of my 
wickedness. Even then, when little more than 
a hundred thousand francs was left of your 
father’s capital, I still hoped, mad fool that I 
was, to win enough to repay all. I thought 
that I had time before me ; but when you settled 


98 


REFINING FIRES 


in Paris your mother wished to buy a house at 
Juvisy, so as to be nearer to you; and your 
father wrote to me for eighty thousand francs 
from his capital. The long expected moment 
had come. Two courses were open to me: I 
could confess all, face your father’s just anger, 
and expiate my crime as far as I could by 
giving myself up to justice, or I could fly. 
lYou know which course I chose.” 

A knock at the door interrupted his story, 
and it was Lucienne who said: “Come in!” 

The door opened very gently, and a little 
lady entered, small and frail and old, just like 
the pictures of a fairy godmother in a child’s 
picture-book. Her silk dress was nearly 
covered by a wadded cloak, old-fashioned in 
shape, and rather shabby. A hood was over 
her head, so that nothing but the frill of her 
bonnet was to be seen, and she carried an ivory- 
headed cane in her hand. 

“Mademoiselle Fanny!” said Lozares. 

Lucienne rose from her chair and went 
forward to welcome the newcomer. She held 
out a daintily gloved hand, and Lucienne 
noticed the fine lace rufiles at her wrist. 

“I know that I have the pleasure of speaking 


MADEMOISELLE FANNY 99 


to Madame Mauvoisin,” she said, in a sweet, 
low voice. 

“I am ashamed to think how often you have 
been here without seeing me,” replied Lu- 
cienne; “and I have so much to thank you for.” 

“We have been expecting you for a long 
time,” went on Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille. 
“I have heard so often of you that I confess 
I was getting impatient to see you.” 

Her looks, as they rested on the beautiful 
face at the sick man’s bedside, showed that her 
expectations had been more than fulfilled. 

Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille and Lucienne 
had much to talk of together. The former told 
of what she had done, and the latter could not 
express her gratitude for all that had been 
thought of and the way in which it had been 
carried out. 

From this their conversation turned to other 
things; for, despite the difference of age, the 
two women brought together in so strange a 
manner felt from the first that they were 
congenial spirits. The sight of Mademoiselle 
de Rochefeuille’s servant, who came in carry- 
ing a basket of oranges, was a fresh surprise 
to Lucienne. He was tall, slim, and as black 


100 


REFINING FIRES 


as polished ebony, wearing a pale blue livery 
that suited his dusky complexion to perfection. 

Mademoiselle Fanny took the oranges from 
the dark hand, baring her own so as to prepare 
it for Lozares, who, like a ti’ue Spaniard, 
enjoyed nothing better than the fruit of his 
native land. Lucienne noticed the rings on the 
shapely little hands, and catching sight of the 
coat of arms that was cut on one of them, she 
guessed that their wearer was a member of an 
old family which had once been of importance, 
but that had sunk to insignificance on account 
of its poverty in this money-loving age. In 
spite of her shabby garments, everything about 
the little old lady confirmed this opinion of 
her; and when Lozares had eaten the fruit she 
rose with the air of a duchess and held out her 
hand to Lucienne. 

“It is time for me to be going,” she said. 
“But, dear Madame, now that I have had the 
pleasure of meeting you I want to ask you a 
favour. Could you spare time in your gay 
life to visit a lonely old woman?” 

“Mademoiselle, if you will allow me!” cried 
Lucienne, her whole manner emphasizing the 
truth of what she said. “I shall be honoured.” 


MADEMOISELLE FANNY 101 


Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille drew out a 
card from her case and handed it to Lucienne. 
Seeing the address it bore, the latter could not 
help exclaiming at the distance it was from 
where they were. The old lady only laughed 
at her dismay. 

“We are independent people, Jose and Ij” 
she said ; but her serious tone was belied by the 
twinkle in her steel grey eyes. “My carriage 
is waiting for me. I am sorry, however, that I 
cannot offer you a seat.” 

Lucienne bowed, somewhat mystified, as the 
little lady evidently meant her to be. 

“May I offer you my arm?” she said; for 
Jose had disappeared at the first mention of 
the carriage. 

Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille laid her hand 
on Lucienne’s with a smile, but Lozares held 
her baek a moment. 

“Come again soon !” he pleaded. “It does me 
good only to see you.” 

“Hush!” said Lucienne, drawing her dress 
away from him; for it seemed so ungrateful 
after all her companion had done for hi m that 
it should be she whom he wished to see. “I will 
come as soon as I can, be sure of that.” 


102 


REFINING FIRES 


They went slowly down the long stairs 
together, the little old lady and the tall young 
one; but, to Lucienne’s surprise, on reaching 
the door there was no sign of a carriage. 

“Jose will be here in a moment,” said 
Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille ; and as she spoke 
the rumbling of wheels was heard in the court- 
yard, and Jose appeared, dragging a light 
bath-chair. 

“You see, I am a selfish person,” said 
Mademoiselle Fanny, laughing delightedly at 
Lucienne’s amazement. 

“That I can never believe,” replied Lu- 
cienne,, as she helped the old lady into her 
chair; then, standing for a moment, she 
watched the quaint pair out of sight. 

Lucienne had delayed longer than she had 
intended, and, calling a passing cab, she told 
the man to drive quickly to the Rue Taitbout. 
Her thoughts were very different from what 
they had been on the occasion of her last visit. 
Then they had been sorrowful, dwelling on 
Lozares and on the past, now they dwelt 
happily on the present. She was enjoying the 
rare feeling of having made a true friend after 
only a single meeting. 


CHAPTER X 


NEW FRIENDSHIP 

The address that Mademoiselle de Roche- 
feuille had given to Lucienne was away at the 
other side of the Luxembourg Gardens, and 
it was some days before Raoul’s engagements 
eft his wife free to pay her promised visit there. 
It was an old-fashioned quarter, and each house 
was built round a courtyard. The gate before 
which Lucienne stopped enclosed not a yard, 
but a veritable shrubbery of plants and ever- 
green trees ; and, entering, she found that the 
farther end, which was guarded by a wire 
raihng, was a real garden where spring flowers 
were struggling into bloom. Unlike its neigh- 
bours, the house in this garden was small and 
low. The door stood ajar, and no sooner had 
Lucienne rung the bell than a Belgian griffon 
ran out yapping a welcome, and wagging its 
tail in the most friendly fashion. The lapdog’s 
103 


104 


REFINING FIRES 


note of warning was heard by Jose the negro, 
and a moment later, he had ushered the visitor 
into a tiled hall spotlessly clean, with Indian 
draperies covering the four doors that led off 
it to the other parts of the house. 

The negro raised one of these curtains, and 
Lucienne, passing under it, found herself in 
a small drawing-room, furnished half a century 
or more ago in a style that had been the very 
best; but as the upholstery dated back to the 
same period, the room had the same quaint 
air of faded distinction that its little old 
mistress bore. 

Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille was an old 
maid. She was shabby and apparently poor. 
Her life was spent in an unfashionable part of 
Paris, and her time was devoted to good works ; 
yet her visitor discovered something in her 
conversation quite unlike, and infinitely more 
attractive than, anything she had ever met with 
elsewhere. She was accustomed in her own 
home to associate with well-educated, even with 
cultivated people. The Mauvoisins’ friends 
had all the attractions that money can give; 
but this little old lady in her old-world home 
possessed the nameless fascination that before 


NEW FRIENDSHIP, 


105 


the Revolution may have been more general 
in France, but that is only to be found nowa- 
days in the few families who can claim to 
belong to the Faubourg Saint Germain. 

Lucienne was completely subjugated by this 
charm, and whatever her hostess had said she 
would have listened to with attention, even if 
the subject had been of less engrossing interest 
to her than it was. Although she did not know 
it, it was her own sympathy that drew the re- 
cital of her past life from Mademoiselle de 
Rochefeuille — a recital that had not passed her 
lips for years, although her mind dwelt con- 
tinually upon the days gone by. 

When scarcely more than a child herself, she 
had been left an orphan with four little 
motherless sisters in her charge. A miniature 
larger than the others, hanging round the 
woodwork of the fireplace, showed the four 
baby heads grouped together in the style of 
Raphael’s angels. Three of these children had 
not lived to grow up. The heart of the young 
adopting mother had early learned the lesson 
of pain; but the fourth, the only remaining 
treasure, had perhaps taught her greater 
depths of suffering than the loss of the other 


106 


REFINING FIRES 


three had caused. Against the advice of her 
relations, Sophie de Rochefeuille had married 
a distant connection and had gone to live in 
India. Ten years later she had come back to 
her sister, alone, her youth gone, stolen away 
by the illness that ever since, for almost thirty 
years, had kept her a prisoner in her room. 

“How good God is!” concluded Mademoi- 
selle Fanny gently, when she had recounted all 
this to Lucienne. “I am twenty years older 
than my sister, although her illness has altered 
her so much that you would never think it; so 
when she goes, I can hope that our parting will 
not be a very long one.” 

She smiled so serenely that Lucienne was 
almost startled. She was realising for the first 
time that suffering and death may be met with 
peace, even with content; and it came to her 
suddenly to wonder if she and her husband 
were spending their lives in a way that would 
earn for them, when their end drew near, the 
serenity that this lady enjoyed. 

“I wonder if you could spare the time to 
pay my sister a little visit?” she asked. “I have 
spoken to her of you, and she would like so 
much to make your acquaintance.” 


NEW FRIENDSHIP 


107 


“There is nothing that I should like better,” 
replied Lucienne, eagerly. “I was hoping that 
you might propose it, as I should not have 
dared to suggest 'it myself.” 

Jose did not answer the bell that Mademoi- 
selle de Rochefeuille rang. But the curtain was 
raised by his double, only this second black 
apparition wore the plain gown of a maid, and 
the dusky curls were covered by a muslin cap. 

“Is Madame la Comtesse ready to receive us, 
Rita?” asked Mademoiselle Fanny. 

The negress smiled, and showed a row of 
teeth as brilliantly white as those of her 
brother. 

“Madame la Comtesse is waiting,” she said, 
holding back the curtain. 

“Come!” said Mademoiselle Fanny to 
Lucienne. “ Y ou must remember that the days 
of which I have been speaking, when my dear 
sister was acknowledged as a queen of society 
beauties, are long past. You will only see the 
wreck of her former loveliness.” 

Entering the big, sunny room, where the 
signs of loving hands and loving thoughts for 
its invalid inmate were everywhere visible, 
Lucienne’s first thought was indeed, “Oh, what 


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a wreck!” But she quickly forgot all else in 
the beauty of the great dark eyes, more blue 
than grey, that lighted up the white fragile face 
lying on pillows hardly whiter than itself. The 
delicate features were drawn, and the soft grey 
hair, falling loosely above the brow, cast an 
almost deathlike shadow upon them. 

“She was acknowledged everywhere as a 
queen of society beauties,” Mademoiselle de 
Rochefeuille’s words came back to Lucienne; 
now they gave her quite a shock. Those lovely 
eyes belonged to someone of a higher order 
than a mere society beauty. Perhaps the 
younger woman’s own eyes showed something 
of the admiration that she felt, for, smiling at 
her visitor, the invalid stretched out her hand 
with a gesture that was almost caressing. 

“How kind of you to come and see me!” she 
said. “My sister has spoken of you so often 
that I have been looking forward to your visit 
as impatiently as she has herself.” 

The colour mounted to Lucienne’s pale 
cheeks as she expressed her regret for having 
been unable to take advantage of Mademoiselle 
de Roehefeuille’s invitation any sooner. Then, 
embarrassed by the scrutiny with which 


NEW FRIENDSHIP, 109 

Madame de Mantelon continued to regard her, 
she went on haltingly to refer to her gratitude 
for all that had been done for Lozares. 

“There is no need to apologize for any 
trouble that your poor man has occasioned,” 
said Madame de Mantelon, smiling rather 
sadly. “My sister has had so much experience 
of illness that such a case as yours is only an 
excuse for showing her powers, both of nursing 
and of organization.” 

Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille disclaimed all 
merit beyond a naturally active disposition 
which had to find an outlet outside the little 
home sphere enclosed between the garden 
walls; and listening, as the sisters spoke half 
playfully together, Lucienne was struck anew 
by the extraordinary charm that seemed to lie 
in their every word and action. Time passed 
so quickly that she could not believe that half- 
an-hour had gone by when the negress 
appeared a second time at the door, and 
announced that Monseigneur wished to see 
Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille. 

“Monseigneur!” cried Mademoiselle, rising 
quickly. “Will you excuse me, Madame?” 
turning to Lucienne. “I had no idea that he 


110 


REFINING FIRES 


had arrived in Paris. He wrote to us from 
Lyons only two days ago.” 

Lucienne had happened to notice the arrival 
recorded in the papers that morning of this 
prelate, a high dignitary at the Vatican, and 
she could not help wondering how so busy a 
man could spare time in the few days he was to 
spend in Paris to visit the little old lady. 

“You are surprised to find what an 
important personage you have come to see!” 
said Madame de Mantelon, laughing, and again 
reading her visitor’s thoughts; then, seeing that 
Lucienne was confused at being read aright, 
she quickly changed the subject, begging her 
visitor to come again. As she left the room 
Lucienne heard, softly spoken, “Au Revoir!” 

The sorrows that had pressed so heavily on 
her young life had raised a barrier between 
Lucienne and her own contemporaries ; but she 
had hardly realised how lonely this barrier had 
made her until these two old ladies, who had 
met and conquered sorrow, and whose hearts 
had remained youthful in spite of all, had 
stretched out their hands to her and drawn her 
to them with the steadfast clasp of true friend- 
ship. 


CHAPTER XI 


AN UNPLEASANT DISCUSSION 

Lucienne could not herself have explained 
the fascination that her newly made friends 
already possessed for her, but during the days 
that followed her visit to them her mind kept 
going back to the invalid’s room, quiet and 
sunny, in the midst of the noise and darkness 
of the surrounding streets, where for the first 
time for many months she had been so taken 
out of herself as to forget for the present the 
burden of sorrows that lay so heavily upon her 
yovmg shoulders. Tactful by nature, and 
rendered doubly so by the circumstances of her 
life, she was still debating within herself as to 
how soon another visit to Madame de Mantelon 
would be courteous and friendly without being 
intrusive, when Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille 
decided the question by coming to return her 
visit. 

m 


112 


REFINING FIRES 


Raoul was going out one afternoon when he 
met the little old lady mounting the stairs, 
helped in the ascent by the strong arm of Jose. 
It was unmistakable even in the half light that 
the quaint figure in her old-fashioned silk gown 
was a lady ; and although Raoul did not connect 
her with what his wife had told him of her new 
friends, he raised his hat as he passed her by. 

Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille acknowledged 
the courtesy by a slight inclination; but the 
young man would have been somewhat 
surprised if he had known how true an insight 
to his character the one quick glance that she 
bestowed upon him had given to the unknown 
passer-by. 

“So that is her husband!” was Mademoi- 
selle’s inward comment. “He is got up too 
much like a tailor’s block for my taste; yet 
there is something in his face that I like. I 
think he is not altogether unworthy of his sweet 
little wife. ,Yes, for his own sake as well as 
for hers, he is worth helping.” 

The old lady’s instinct did not deceive her; 
there was good in Raoul Mauvoisin, and as she 
met him he was bound on an errand that he did 
not like, and yet that he had undertaken to do. 


UNPLEASANT DISCUSSION 113 


Madame Mauvoisin, who spoke so much of 
the serenity and happiness of her daughter’s 
household in comparison to the misfortunes 
that her daughter-in-law had brought upon the 
family, had lately had some misgivings as to the 
entire truth of her boasting. Madame de 
Charolles had not confided in her mother, and 
outwardly everything was supposed to be going 
well; but at last, on the morning of Made- 
moiselle de Rochefeuille’s visit to Lucienne, she 
had decided to seek advice from her brother, 
and Raoul, very much against his own inclina- 
tions, was being dragged into the disagreement 
that he now learned existed between his sister 
and her husband. 

Madame de Charolles had asked Raoul to 
meet her in the Bois de Boulogne, where, lean- 
ing back beside her in her smooth-running 
electric brougham, he listened in silence to the 
story of her. woes, if her feelings may be so 
described, when, in point of fact, she was as 
yet far more angry than unhappy. 

For some time past Monsieur de Charolles 
had been odd and irritable, altogether unlike 
himself; nothing seemed to please him; and 
the chmax was that on the previous day he had 


114 


REFINING FIRES 


told his wife that in future she must not only 
spend less money on her clothes, but that the 
expenses of their household must immediately 
be reduced as much as was possible without the 
world’s being made aware of their retrench- 
ments. 

Raoul, who had learned from personal 
experience to look upon his sister’s ex- 
travagances more critically than he would have 
done some time ago, was inclined to sympathise 
with his brother-in-law ; but Madame de 
Charolles would not listen to his half-hearted 
remonstrances, till at last, losing patience, he 
spoke more decidedly. 

“My dear Louise,” he said, “you are only 
looking at your own side of the question. Try 
and put yourself in Frederic’s place for a mo- 
ment, and then I think you will have to own 
that you are just a little extravagant.” 

“Well, even if I did spend more than some 
other people’s wives,” went on Louise, “I am 
only spending what is my own. I did not come 
to my husband empty-handed or worse. I am 
not a parasite — ” 

“Louise!” interrupted Raoul, angrily. 
“Remember whom you are speaking to!” 


UNPLEASANT DISCUSSION 115 


“I do not see why you should not hear the 
truth for once?” retorted Louise. 

“It is not the truth !” replied Raoul, coldly. 
“I do not see why Lucienne need be dragged 
into the question; but, as you have referred to 
her, let me tell you once and for all that what- 
ever she spends it is with my sanction — nay, 
more, at my request.” 

“Then I must congratulate you on being so 
implicitly obeyed,” sneered Louise. “How- 
ever, I do maintain for my own credit that I 
am always pleasant and good-tempered with 
Frederic. I never put on the repellant, 
haughty — I am never like Lucienne.” 

“Repellant, haughty? I don’t know what 
you mean!” cried Raoul. “No one is gentler, 
more charming than Lucienne.” 

“When she wishes, perhaps, but not always, 
by any means.” 

Madame de Charolles had seen so little of 
her brother since his marriage, except in public, 
that he had no idea how deeply she shared the 
feehngs toward Lucienne that Madame Mau- 
voisin took no trouble to conceal from him; and 
Lucienne was far too noble, far too anxious to 
shield her husband from any further annoyance 


116 


REFINING FIRES 


than what she had unwittingly brought upon 
him, to have let him guess at the many slights 
she had to endure from his sister — slights that 
in her case were prompted as much by personal 
envy as by the offended family pride that was 
at the root of Madame Mauvoisin’s dislike to 
Lucienne. 

Now, however, Madame de Charolles had 
lost her temper, and in turning thus on 
Lucienne she showed Raoul something of her 
real nature that he had never seen before. For 
a moment he listened in silence to the tirade 
that his last words had called forth; then, 
leaning forward to tell the chauffeur to stop, 
he spoke coldly and contemptuously. 

“I understand what you mean now,” he 
said. “My wife is too well dressed to please 
you. You do not like me to give her a free 
hand as far as her dress allowance is concerned; 
and, now that I come to think of it, you are 
not far wrong. Money spent on decking 
Lucienne out is certainly wasted; for whatever 
she wears there is something in her looks, some- 
thing in the way she puts on the simplest things, 
that no money could buy for you, or for most 
jvomen of my acquaintance.” 


UNPLEASANT DISCUSSION 117 


He sprang from his seat, and as he alighted 
motioned the man to drive on; and it was not 
until he was left some yards behind that 
Madame de Charolles began to recover from 
the parting thrust that he had given her, almost 
unbearable as it was, because it revealed the 
jealousy that she thought to have kept secret 
from all. 

With his usual indolent good-nature, Raoul 
soon regretted what he had said; but by the 
time he reached home he forgot his annoyance, 
and greeted Lucienne just as she would have 
wished if she could have prompted his words. 
On going upstairs, the remembrance of the 
quaint figures he had passed when going out 
came back to him, and his first words to his 
wife were a question concerning her visitors. 

“You don’t know what you have missed!” 
cried Lucienne; and she told him about her 
friend, whom she found even more delightful 
on closer acquaintance than she had thought 
her at first. As on the afternoon that Lucienne 
had spent in the Rue d’ Arras, so on the return 
visit time had flown on golden wings. 

Lucienne’s enthusiasm in telling of the 
charms of Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille was 


118 


REFINING FIRES 


contagious, and Raoul’s interest was aroused. 

“Where on earth did you make her acquaint- 
ance?” he asked. 

“In an attic, an absolute garret, on the sixth 
floor of a house — such a house as you have 
never seen from inside,” replied Lucienne. 
“She had come to the rescue of an unfortunate 
man in whom I am interested. You would 
not have believed — ^would you? — that in my 
poor people’s country roses grow sometimes.” 

“Evidently they do, dear,” said Raoul. “I 
suppose roses and thorns are to be found in 
most places. Certainly they both grow in my 
friends’ gardens.” 

Lucienne looked up quickly at her husband. 
Was he thinking of the past, of the thorns that 
through Lozares she had brought into his life? 
But no, no; with all his faults, he was too 
generous to refer to what was past, and, laying 
her hand on his arm, she searched his face 
anxiously. 

“Thorns,” she repeated; *‘but not in your 
own life? Tell me, Raoul, if anything has 
happened — at least let me have a share in your 
annoyances.” 

“What an anxious little being it is!” He 


UNPLEASANT DISCUSSION 119 


took his wife’s face between his hands, and 
looked down on her, smiling, showing her for 
once that her sympathy was very dear to him. 

“They are not very long thorns, only pin 
pricks at present. I have been driving with 
Louise, and listening to her account of a 
domestic tempest that seems to be going on in 
the De Charolles’ household. He complains 
of her extravagance; she thinks herself, in 
consequence, the most ill-treated woman in the 
world.” 

“Poor Louise!” Lucienne sighed as her eyes 
rested for a moment on the picture of her dead 
baby. “How sad it is to make oneself unhappy 
when one has so much, so very much to be 
thankful for!” 

“Well, it certainly sounded to me like a 
storm in a teacup; but it has not improved 
Louise’s temper, I assure you.” 

“Poor Louise ! Can you do nothing to help 
her, Raoul — to advise her?” 

The remembrance of what “poor Louise” 
had said of Lucienne came back to Raoul, and 
he frowned angrily. 

“She is impossible!” he cried. “But I did 
what I could. I dare say De Charolles is quite 


120 


REFINING FIRES 


right ; in any case, I don’t hold with any outside 
interference between husband and wife.” 

If to Lucienne came a thought of how often 
Madame Mauvoisin’s influenee over her son 
had overruled the excellent maxim to whieh 
he now gave voice, she quickly put it aside; 
and at a further question from him she passed 
from the evidently distasteful subject of Louise 
and her extravagance, and went on telling of 
Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille and the interest- 
ing things that she had said about her youth in 
the West Indies and of the travels of her older 
days. 

Madame Mauvoisin was satisfied that her 
son should belong to a smart club, and be more 
or less intimate with its members ; but Lueienne 
aspired to something higher for her husband. 
His abilities were above the average, only, 
living the life he did, his best powers were 
seldom called forth. Mademoiselle de Roche- 
feuille, quaint and old-fashioned and obscure 
as she seemed to be, was just the kind of person 
who would appeal to the better side of Raoul’s 
mind ; and when, after hearing the whole reeital 
of the afternoon’s visit, he asked Lucienne to 
take him with her when next she went to see 


UNPLEASANT DISCUSSION 121 


her friend, he unknowingly gave her the 
greatest pleasure she had felt for many a day. 
Had Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille had a 
brother, Lucienne felt that he would have been 
a noble Christian gentleman ; and it seemed to 
her that somehow, through this new opening, 
help might come to Raoul whereby his natural 
qualities might be cultivated and fostered until 
he, too, reached that high plane which his wife 
aspired to for him, and which, notwith. anding 
her love for him, she knew he had not yet 
attained. 


CHAPTER XII 


A WELCOME PROPOSAL 

Much as Lucienne had looked forward to 
her second visit to the little house in the Rue 
d’ Arras, she was not disappointed with the 
visit itself. Raoul, though at first inclined to 
criticise the well-worn furniture and faded 
hangings, had fallen at once under the charm 
of the little old lady and her sister. 

“But they are delightful — absolutely de- 
lightful, my dear !” he cried, as he walked home 
at Lucienne’s side. “Poor as church mice, that 
is easily seen; but such breeding, such 
intelligence! And the invalid must once have 
been magnificently beautiful, but I am not sure 
that your first friend is not the more attractive. 
Fancy what they must have been thirty or 
forty years ago! I wish I knew a few more 
people who are as good company as the two 
we have just left.” 


122 


A WELCOME PROPOSAL 123 


After this the friendship so auspiciously 
begun throve apace. Whenever Lucienne sug- 
gested another visit to the little old house Raoul 
signified his intention of accompanying her; 
and when Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille came 
to their apartment he made it a point of being 
at home to receive her. One day, however, 
she came on a day when, he had happened to 
mention, he would be going into the country 
with some friends ; and when she and Lucienne 
had talked together for a time she inquired 
after him. 

“He is quite well, thank you!” replied 
Lucienne; “but he will be very disappointed 
when he hears that he has missed seeing you.” 

“How nice of you to say so! Tell him from 
me that I, too, was very sorry to miss him, 
only — ” (Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille 
paused for a moment.) “Tell him, also,” she 
went on, “that we are grateful to him for his 
courtesy and visits.” 

“Grateful! Oh, Mademoiselle, you do not 
know how much we both enjoy our visits to 
you; it is rather we who are grateful to you.” 

“No, no!” returned Mademoiselle. “It is 
right that old people should be grateful when 


124 


REFINING FIRES 


young ones, especially young men, seek their 
company. No; in this case I will not say 
especially young men, for, if you do not mind 
my saying so, my dear — I speak for my sister 
as well as for myself — we have become very 
fond of our dear little visitor.” She laid her 
soft, withered fingers on Lucienne’s hand ; and 
the girl, with a sudden flush of gratification, 
raised them quickly to her lips. It was an 
impulsive gesture, but one that seemed quite 
natural; for the old lady in her faded silk had 
all the dignity of a little queen. 

“Yes, my dear, very, very dear,” there was 
something more than affection in the smile with 
which she accepted Lucienne’s grateful thanks 
— a mysterious something that certainly boded 
no ill for its recipient; but she said nothing 
more, and soon turned the conversation. 

“I think it is time for me to make a 
confession,” she said, half seriously. “Would 
you thank me so much for my visit to you 
to-day if you knew that it was prompted by 
interested motives?” 

Lucienne looked at her incredulously. 

“Unless you told me so yourself, I should 
not believe it,” she replied. 


WELCOME PROPOSAL 125 


“But it is true,” said the old lady, now 
smiling outright. “Quite true. I am a beggar ; 
nothing more and nothing less.” 

“Then I do thank you,” returned Lucienne 
quickly, and now smiling also. “Because by 
coming here as a beggar you are giving me the 
opportunity of doing something for you.” 

“I cannot claim even that” (Mademoiselle 
de Rochefeuille was enjoying her little mys- 
tery) “because it is not you, but your husband 
from whom I want something.” 

“What a pity he is not at home!” cried 
Lucienne. “Only I know that I can promise 
you anything in his name.” 

“Will you ask him, then, to make no 
engagement for Sunday morning next? I want 
him to go to Saint Roch for High Mass. There 
is to be a charity sermon and a collection for 
the sick poor of the parish; and I want your 
husband to give his arm to one of the ladies 
who will make the collection, the Marquise 
de R .” 

The name that Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille 
mentioned was well known in Paris as belong- 
ing to one of the most sought after, yet perhaps 
the most exclusive, of the leaders of that, 


126 


REFINING FIRES 


dwindling remnant known as the ancient aris- 
tocracy. To be associated in public with 

Madame de R was an honour that even 

Raoul’s most fashionable friends would not 
have aspired to. 

“She is a very delightful woman,” went on 
the old lady. “We have been friends for a 
great many years — for all her life, I may say — 
and I often meet her on my rounds. Her 
brother. Monsieur de Montgeoffroy, is quite as 
charming as she is. He is wonderfully clever 
and interested in all kinds of literary and 
scientific things; yet he is the most kind- 
hearted, the most tender-hearted man to the 
poor that I have ever met. He is the life and 
soul of numberless charitable undertakings; 
and, as he has the most wonderful infiuence 
over young men of his own class, he is able to 
turn everyone he meets — everyone who is 
worth it, that is to say, into coadjutors. The 
good that he does in all classes is incalculable.” 

But Lucienne was hardly attending now to 
what was being said. She knew, with quick, 
imerring instinct, that this chance-met, shabby 
old maid had guessed the deepest, inmost secret 
of her heart; she had found out her longing 


A WELCOME PROPOSAL 127 


that Raoul’s life should be utilised, elevated. 
This Monsieur de Montgeoffroy must be the 
very ideal of what Lucienne had dreamed of 
for her husband, and Mademoiselle de Roche- 
feuille had laid her secret bare. “How did you 
guess?” she murmured in amazement, her 
cheeks glowing and her eyes swimming in 
tears. 

“My dear, you have never smd a word. You 
are the most loyal wife in all the world. I was 
interested in you from the first; and remember, 
I am a very old woman and have had a great 
deal of experience and of sorrow, the best of 
all mistresses, when one has once learned how 
to profit by her lessons. Sorrow has given me 
a deep insight into character, and has, I hope 
and think, widened my sympathies. I feel, my 
dear, that I know you well. Is it not natural, 
then, that I should realise your aspirations for 
your husband? I have studied him, and have 
found out his qualities, his possibilities ; other- 
wise, even for your sake, I would not have 
proposed this introduction.” 

“It is an answer to many, many prayers!” 
cried Lucienne. “I have prayed and prayed 
for him that he might become what this 


128 


REFINING FIRES 


Monsieur de Montgeoffroy seems to be. Oh, 
Mademoiselle! Raoul is good and clever, only 
he wants someone wiser and better than I to 
lead and help him!” 

“He could have no better friend than 
Monsieur de Montgeoffroy; and, please God, 
he will profit by the friendship,” said Made- 
moiselle de Rochefeuille. “Only you must 
remember that when a man has allowed himself 
to become as indifferent about religion as your 
husband seems to be it takes time and patience 
for any real improvement to come about. This 
seems to be a very small beginning, but great 
results have grown from less. Now that we 
have a few moments alone together tell me 
something more about yourself, so that I may 
know how best to help you further. Have you 
many intimate friends in Paris?” 

“Raoul has,” replied Eucienne; “but I have 
none.” 

“None?” 

“No, Mademoiselle. You see I was a 
stranger; and though his mother’s friends 
invite me to their houses, I do not care for any 
of them. .You are the first friend that I have 
paade since my marriage.” 


A WELCOME PROPOSAL 129 


She went on to tell her sympathetic listener 
something of the state of things that existed 
between the two families, and though she was 
obliged to refer to the influence that Raoul’s 
mother and sister exerted over him, she allowed 
no note of personal feeling into her recital ; and 
when going on to speak of her own parents she 
only alluded vaguely to the loss of their for- 
time, fearing if she even owned that their loss 
had been brought about by a fraudulent trustee 
Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille’s penetration 
might possibly have revealed the truth to her. 

When she had finished her sad story her old 
friend felt she would no longer be working in 
the dark in trying to help in Raoul’s regenera- 
tion; and before taking leave she begged 
Lucienne to come herself and to take her 
husband as often as ever she wished to the little 
house in the Rue d’ Arras, where a warm 
welcome would always await them. Then, 
ringing for Jose, she bade her hostess farewell, 
and drove off in the fiacre that was awaiting 
her, her chair being kept for shorter excursions 
in her own less busy quarter of the city. 


CHAPTER XIII 


FOB HUMAN KESPECT 

What Lucienne had vainly wished for so 
long had come to pass, and this in the most 
unlikely manner possible. The little old lady 
of the Luxembourg had opened a door that 
neither Raoul nor Lucienne had ever thought 
to enter. This door led into a totally different 
world from that in which their life had hitherto 
been spent. 

The Mauvoisins moved amongst a circle of 
people rich, well educated, if teaching without 
culture can be so called, whose god was fashion, 
and whose sole aim and object in life was to 
amuse themselves. Instead of the blase young 
clubmen with whom Raoul had been accus- 
tomed to associate, he would now be introduced 
to people who, whilst socially his superiors, did 
not think the working classes and the poor 
beneath their notice. Most of them were well 
130 


FOR HUMAN RESPECT 131 


off, and many of their names were widely and 
honourably known in the world of sport and 
of healthy amusement, but their minds were 
cultivated ; they were all able to take an 
intelligent interest in books and pictures, in 
travel, even in the sciences. Then, too, there 
was a band of younger men amongst them who 
were actively interested in social work amongst 
the poor — a band whose views were too 
progressive for some amongst the older genera- 
tion, who clung to the tenets as well as to the 
courtesies of what is called the “ancien regime.” 
But the younger men saw clearly the necessity 
for educated leaders who would sympathise 
with the poor, and at the same time help them 
to help themselves. In so doing they not only 
worked for the good of souls, their own and 
others, and for the good of their country, but 
they created interests that had hitherto been 
lacking in their lives, and whilst trying to make 
others happier, they became insensibly better 
and happier themselves. 

It was in this band that Raoul would now 
have the opportunity of enrolling himself. Not 
that he was aware of all this; to him the 
mtroduction to the Marquise de R simply 


132 


REFINING FIRES 


meant a social honour; and Lucienne, who 
knew what this first step was intended to lead 
to, and was silent about it, feared by a word to 
interfere with what she hoped for so much. 

In accepting Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille’s 
nvitation, Raoul was hke a traveller who 
embarks on a voyage merely for the pleasure of 
the journey itself, careless of where the boat 
will take him; but when he finds that the tide 
has carried him to a new country, beautiful, 
rich, and prosperous, he decides never to go 
back to the dull and arid place in which he had 
up to this been content to dwell, and, making 
his home in the new country, he thanks God 
for having led him to it. 

The first task that this new acquaintanceship 
imposed upon Raoul he considered both a 
pleasure and an honour; and, curiously enough, 
it was to the chief failings of his character that 
Lucienne looked to help him on his way. He 
had always been childishly eager over any new 
undertaking, but up to this he had tired of 
everything as quickly as he had taken it up; 
now his human respect would keep him tb his 
new occupations, which he was flattered at 
being asked to undertake.. 


FOR HUMAN RESPECT 133 


Knowing her husband’s weakness, Lucienne 
dared not count for certain on his carrying out 
the programme that, with her old friend’s 
assistance, she had laid down for him, until she 
had heard her mother-in-law’s opinion of this 
new venture. They had called together at the 
Mauvoisins’ house, and Raoul had begun, half 
carelessly, to tell his mother of the ceremony in 
which he was to take part. As Lucienne had 
foreseen, Madame Mauvoisin seemed inclined 
at first to dissuade him from doing anything 
that was not within her own little circle, but 
when he mentioned that the lady he had been 

asked to escort was the Marquise de R 

her expression immediately changed. 

“What!” she cried in astonishment. “Not 

Madame de R 1 Why, Raoul, she is one 

of the most exclusive hostesses in Paris! Do 
you really mean that you are to take her roimd 
for the quite?" 

“Yes, indeed,” answered Raoul gaily, de- 
lighted at the impression that his news had 
created. “Madame de R , and no other.” 

Madame Mauvoisin’s face was radiant as she 
turned to her son. 

“I shall go and see you,” she said beamingly ; 


134 


REFINING FIRES 


and Lucienne, who had not dared look up 
during the discussion, breathed freely at last ; 
her cause was gained, and this time it was the 
human respect of mother and son alike that had 
won the victory. 

How well Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille 
understood human nature ! Lucienne had 
perfect confidence in her friend, and when time 
passed, and she began to be disheartened at 
Raoul’s not making faster progress in the way 
she had mapped out for him, she always took 
heart afresh after a talk with Mademoiselle. 

“You must have patience, my dear,” the old 
lady would say — “patience and confidence in 
God. A gardener never takes up a seed because 
he does not see it beginning to sprout at once; 
and you must remember how lately the seed 
of Raoul’s conversion, if I may so call it, has 
been sown. Wait and pray, and believe me 
you will not be disappointed.” 

The first result that came from the new 
interests in Raoul’s life was that he began to 
tire of his old acquaintances, and many of the 
hours that he had formerly spent lounging 
about in their company at the club were now 
passed in Lucienne’s company. Her life up 


FOR HUMAN RESPECT 185 


to this had often been very lonely, and she 
welcomed the change eagerly, treasuring up 
every moment that her husband now chose to 
spend with her. There was but one drawback 
to her newly found happiness. Whenever she 
went to see Mademoiselle de Rouchefeuille and 
her sister, Raoul accompanied her; indeed it 
was often he who proposed a visit to the little 
old ladies. 

It was curious to see how completely this 
young man of the world was fascinated by the 
inmates of the little house in the Luxembourg; 
and Lucienne was obliged to banish a scheme 
which had been very near her heart, so as to 
ensure that these visits should continue undis- 
turbed. In the early days of her acquaintance 
with Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille she had 
looked forward eagerly to the time when she 
could introduce her parents to her new friend. 
She had intended to ask permission to make 
the introduction as soon as she felt that her own 
intimacy with Mademoiselle had grown 
sufficiently to justify such a request; but when 
that time did arrive, the newer, more daring 
scheme for Raoul’s benefit had come into 
being. Lucienne knew then that she must 


136 REFINING FIRES 

abandon her earlier wish; for her husband 
would certainly give up frequenting a house 
where he might be in danger of meeting his 
father-in-law. In his heart he had always 
known that he was acting wrongly toward 
her parents, but he was too proud to own to his 
fault; and rather than let this be revealed to 
the little old ladies he would most certainly 
give up his visits to them. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE ALBUM 

As the summer advanced, the attic where 
Lozares still lay helpless became unbearably 
hot, and Lucienne tried to visit him in the 
mornings before the great heat of the day came 
on so as to let a little air into his room, and to 
close the shutters that she had had put up, but 
which he was unable to reach for himself. It 
was arranged that Mademoiselle de Roche- 
feuille should either go herself or send the 
negro, Jose, in the evenings, to open the 
windows again and let in the cooler air of the 
night. 

Lucienne was touched at the intense 
gratitude that her poor protege showed toward 
her, and she was edified at his sorrow and 
remorse for the past, as also at the patience 
with which he bore his sufferings. He liked her 
to speak to him of the next world, and of the 
137 


138 


REFINING FIRES 


infinite pity and mercy of God. One thing 
only seemed really to distress him, and that 
was the knowledge that his old friend whom he 
had so basely betrayed had not forgiven him. 

“If only I could see him again! Oh, 
Lucienne, it is not the least part of my just 
punishment that I shall die without being able 
to confess all to your father, and to beg on my 
knees for his forgiveness 1” 

Over and over again this cry had been 
repeated, and though it wrung Lucienne’s 
heart, she was powerless to bring about what 
the wretched man desired. Whenever she 
tried to speak of Lozares to her parents she 
was chilled or checked; and she felt instinc- 
tively that the time had not yet come for 
revealing the truth to them. Indeed, if 
Lucienne had let her father know that his false 
friend was in Paris, or even that she knew of 
his whereabouts, she felt that he would not rest 
until the unfortunate wretch who was so cruelly 
expiating his crimes in seeret was handed over 
to the police. 

It was the continually repeated desire to see 
his old and much injured friend that made 
Lucienne take her photograph album with her 


THE ALBUM 


139 


one day to the attic, so that Lozares might see 
the portraits of those whom he spoke of so 
often. “There are portraits in it of my 
husband’s family as well as of my own,” said 
Lucienne after removing the wrapper. And 
she turned the leaves over rapidly, but not so 
rapidly that Lozares did not catch sight of 
one of the pictured faces. 

At that moment Lucienne bent down to pick 
up her parasol that had fallen to the floor, and 
she did not see the quick gesture that turned 
the leaves back to a certain page, but her ear 
caught a stifled cry; and, looking up quickly, 
she saw that Lozares had fallen back on his 
pillows, his face deathly white, and with a look 
of mingled fear and horror in his great dark 
eyes. 

“Your husband’s people?” he questioned, in 
a husky voice. “And others too?” 

“No,” replied Lucienne, with a sudden 
unreasoning pang of foreboding. “It is just 
a family album. But what makes you ask ?” 

The portraits that lay upturned upon the 
pallet were those of Madame de Charolles, with 
her children at her knee — a beautiful picture 
of maternal tenderness — and opposite were the 


140 


REFINING FIRES 


dark, almost satanic, features of the husband 
and father. Lucienne had always shrunk 
instinctively from her sister-in-law’s husband; 
but she had chidden herself for this antipathy, 
which she could neither control nor explain, 
and had vainly tried to look with Raoul’s eyes 
upon the most important member of her 
family-in-law. Now all at once something in 
the portrait that she had never noticed before 
justified her hidden feelings, and she turned 
quickly to Lozares for explanations. 

“That man? Why is he here?” the words 
had burst from the invalid’s lips before he had 
time to weigh or consider them; then, seeing 
the anguish on Lucienne’s face, he would have 
given all the world to have left them unsaid. 
But it was too late. Lucienne’s suspicions were 
aroused, and she answered quickly, joining 
another question to her reply. 

“He is my brother-in-law; but tell me what 
you know about him?” 

“Your — ^your brother?” Lozares seemed 
unable to understand. 

“Her husband,” explained Lucienne, point- 
ing to the portrait of Madame de Charolles, 
whose face was already known to Lozares. 


THE ALBUM 


141 


“Her husband!” he repeated. “My God!” 

“Pedro, Pedro!” cried Lucienne. “Tell me 
what you mean. Explain to me why the sight 
of Monsieur de Charolles upsets you so much.” 

“Monsieur de Charolles! Is that his name? 
Then it is not he. But no, a name can be 
changed ; but a face such as that — never !” And 
he covered his own face with his hands. 

Lucienne was trembling in every limb. 

“You must tell me !” she cried. “Pedro, you 
have no right to torture me so. At least you 
can answer my question. What do you know 
of Monsieur de Charolles?” 

“Wait!” said Lozares, his face drawn with 
anguish. “Give me a moment to consider 
whether in this case ignorance is not better for 
you than knowledge.” 

“Not at present,” replied Lucienne. “It is 
too late now for ignorance. I must know.” 

“Then you insist upon my telling you?” 

“Yes, I insist.” 

“That man — De Charolles, or whatever he 
may call himself — that man won, or at least 
took, much — nay, most — of your fortime.” 

“What! Impossible! Pedro, you must be 
dreaming!” 


142 


REFINING FIRES 


“No; his face is too firmly imprinted upon 
my mind for any mistake to be possible. He 
was one of the foremost members of that gang 
of thieves and gamblers of whom I told you, 
who frequented the private gambling rooms 
where I was utterly ruined.” 


CHAPTER XV 


THE GAMBLEK 

It seemed to Lucienne that she had known 
for a long time, for years, those things of which 
Lozares spoke; unconsciously she had been 
prepared for some such revelation concerning 
the man into whose hands the fortune of the 
Mauvoisin family had passed. Yet the reality 
was so much worse than anything she could 
have imagined, that all her past troubles sank 
away to nothing before this awful disclosure 
that she now had to face. Lozares, seeing the 
tears in her eyes, stretched out his hand and 
laid it on her knee. 

“Lucienne,” he whispered, “can you forgive 
me for bringing this new sorrow upon you?” 

His voice brought her back to the needs of 
the present, and she began to question him 
eagerly. Gilbert — for in his less prosperous 
days Monsieur de Charolles had not aspired to 
143 


144 


REFINING FIRES 


a title — Gilbert had started life as a bank clerk 
at Marseilles; and, having an unusually clear 
head for finance, he had risen rapidly, until 
when Lozares knew him he was manager of a 
large banking firm in that city. Even so, his 
ambition was not satisfied; banking was too 
slow a method of making money, and the gamb- 
ler’s instinct prompted him to tempt fortune 
in a more dangerous manner. After he had 
made up his mind to enter one of the gambling 
hells, he became the moving spirit of the place. 

The money at his command seemed endless, 
and the company into which he was thrown 
was not one that could afford to ask any 
inconvenient questions. Then his luck was 
apparently invincible. Night after night he 
sat down to play, and rose from the tables a 
richer man by many thousands of francs. From 
Lozares alone he had won five thousand francs 
in a few hours. Was his play honest? If it 
was not he was too clever to be found out. It 
was not until after the game was lost that 
Lozares learned of this man’s continuous luck; 
for he had not long been frequenting the house 
where Gilbert was well known. 

“The first time I noticed him,” said Lozares, 


THE GAMBLER 


145 


for, once Lucienne had persuaded him to 
speak, he told her all and fully, “he was 
playing a losing game, and playing badly. I 
saw him lose a large sirni of money, but 
apparently he could afford the loss. At the 
time I little guessed that, stranger as he was 
to me, he knew everything that was to be known 
of my concerns, and that the losing game was 
merely a decoy to tempt me on to ruin. His 
opponent had been paid, and had left him, 
when suddenly he stopped me as I passed. 

“ ‘I’m cleared out except for this,’ he said 
abruptly, tossing a six-thousand franc note 
upon the table ; ‘that means that I am ruined. 
Look here 1 I’ll play you for that note, if you 
can put another like it in the pool. You’re a 
first-rate player, I hear; but I must take my 
chance, and I believe it’s easier to blow one’s 
brains out with an empty pocket than with so 
paltry a lining as that.’ 

“I had seen him play, and felt certain of 
beating him; yet something made me hesitate 
to take up his challenge. 

“‘Well?’ he said; and I thought his tone 
was insolent from a man who owned to be so 
nearly ruined. ‘Yes or no, take it or leave it.* 


146 


REFINING FIRES 


“ ‘Yes,’ I answered curtly; and under my 
breath I added: ‘And so much the worse for 
you!’ 

“He began to play clumsily and stupidly, 
precisely as I had seen him do before; but as 
I became engrossed in the game his system 
changed. Suddenly I became aware that I 
had met my equal; nay, more — ^that this man 
was a positive genius at cards. I do not know 
whether it was anything but skill helped on by 
luck, or if there was trickery as well. As note 
after note of my money — your money, 
Lucienne — ^was paid over to him I lost my 
head. The six thousand francs had long been 
lost and won, and still we played on — ^he, cool 
and contemptuous; I like the madman that I 
was — till at last I had nothing to stake, and 
in desperation I threw my watch upon the 
table. Gilbert pushed it back to me with a 
smile that made me long to kill him. ‘I don’t 
want that, you poor fool!’ he said. 

“I sprang to my feet, and said something 
that showed I knew who he was outside that 
devil’s den. For a moment his face changed; 
then, springing to his feet, he grasped my 
wrists as in a vise. 


THE GAMBLER 


147 


“ ‘You had better forget me I’ he hissed. 
‘For sure as we stand here, if ever my name 
passes your lips in connection with this place 
you are a dead man.’ 

“He went out and left me — ^ruined. I had 
that morning received your father’s letter 
asking for money to buy a house in the country, 
and I had counted on the winnings of that 
night to stave off disaster. You know the rest, 
Lucienne; only had it not been for this last 
misfortune I might have had courage at least 
to stay and face the punishment I so richly 
deserved.” 

Lucienne sighed deeply, and then continued 
her questioning: 

“And you are sure that he knew who you 
were?” 

“Absolutely certain.” 

“Then he was aware whose money he 
won?” 

“Yes.” 

“And yet he dares to take my hand — dares 
even to sit at our table! Oh, what can I call 
him?” Then another idea struck her. “In 
other things, what sort of a man is he?” she 
asked. 


148 


REFINING FIRES 


But Lozares had already told the worst. 
The demon of gold seemed to have possessed 
the soul of Gilbert, ousting all other passions; 
only to gratify his greed, he did not hesitate to 
sacrifice every consideration of honesty, and, 
indeed, of honour. 

“But he is clever over it all,” concluded 
Lozares. “Nothing escapes him ; and his plans 
are so well laid that they defy detection — ^that 
is, so long as his luck does not desert him. As 
a banker, his conduct was considered above 
reproach. His colleagues esteemed him 
highly.” 

“How awful!” groaned Lucienne. “Oh, 
how awful!” 

At the sight of her distress, Lozares began 
to reproach himself aloud for having brought 
this fresh trouble upon her. 

“No, Pedro, you need not regret what has 
happened,” she said. “In this case it is better 
to know the dreadful truth than to remain in 
ignorance of it.” 

“Nevertheless, it is another sorrow that I 
have brought into your life,” replied Lozares, 
sadly. “And, after all you have done for me, 
I should be a shameless brute, worse even than 


THE GAMBLER 


149 


Gilbert, if I did not feel twenty times over the 
smallest pain that is inflicted on you.” 

And, despite all Lucienne could say, she left 
him unconsoled for what had happened. 


CHAPTER XVI 


MISGIVINGS 

The more Lucienne dwelt on the knowledge 
that had come to her in so strange a manner, 
the greater were the difficulties that she saw 
before her. At first she had thought only of 
the personal horror and antipathy that the 
revelation of her brother-in-law’s true character 
had raised in her mind, and she prayed that 
God would give her strength to forgive him the 
part he had taken in her family’s ruin. Then 
it suddenly came to her that her husband’s 
fortune was also in this man’s hands ; and what 
trust could be placed in a gambler who appar- 
ently had no conscience to check his actions 
when it came to making money? 

To tell Louise what she had learned was 
naturally out of the question. Monsieur and 
Madame Mauvoisin would not listen to a word 
against their son-in-law; and, unless Lozares 
150 


MISGIVINGS 


151 


could be brought forward to testify to his story, 
why should her word be believed against De 
Charolles’ ? Even if Lozares were able to tell 
the story himself, what good would it do ? Her 
parents’ innocence of all participation in the 
spending of her fortune would indeed be 
proved, but at what a price! Anger, discord, 
and sorrow, which would make a breach in the 
Mauvoisin family that nothing could ever heal. 

Raoul was the only person to whom it would 
be possible to reveal her secret, yet for many 
reasons she shrank from telling him what she 
knew. A great change had come over him 
during the past months ; but, even so, could she 
trust him with the knowledge of Lozares’ 
whereabouts? Her influence with him was 
increasing daily, and she hesitated to do any- 
thing that might shake his trust in her. 
Fortunately, it was not necessary to act at 
once; and, as they were going to leave Paris 
in a few days, she decided to keep her own 
counsel for the present, and to watch for an 
opportunity of speaking during the six weeks 
alone with her husband at Croisic. 

It was the first time since their honeymoon 
that the Raoul Mauvoisins had left Paris 


152 


REFINING FIRES 


together. Usually the whole family went in 
a party to some watering place; but this year 
Madame de Charolles was advised to go to 
Cauterets; and, as her husband could not 
accompany her, her parents went with her in 
his place. Raoul, however, had set his heart 
on spending the summer by the sea; and it was 
an example of his growing independence that 
he resisted his mother’s request, and kept to his 
own plan, despite her wish that he, and there- 
fore necessarily Lucienne, should travel with 
them all to Cauterets. 

To Lucienne’s simprise, she learned that her 
old friends in the Luxembourg were following 
the example of all well-to-do Parisians, and 
were going for some weeks into the country. 
She had unconsciously counted on Mademoi- 
selle de Rochefeuille’s continuing to visit 
Lozares during her absence at Croisic; for she 
had not thought that the modest little house- 
hold could well bear the expense of a country 
holiday. Mademoiselle Fanny, on the other 
hand, had made all arrangements for Pedro’s 
comfort during the absence of his benefactress ; 
and Lucienne’s mind could be at rest so far as 
he was concerned. 


CHAPTER XVII 


DE CHAROLLES COMES AND GOES 

Three weeks of the Raoul Mauvoisins’ stay 
at Croisic had passed; and, in spite of all that 
was on her mind, Lucienne had benefited by the 
enforced rest and the fresh breezes of the sea. 
No opportimity had yet presented itself which 
would have enabled her to tell Raoul of her 
discovery concerning M. de Charolles; and 
although, thinking calmly over it, she saw that 
such a declaration would eventually be 
necessary, she did not feel that her husband 
could as yet be induced to act with mercy and 
discretion; and she shrank from breaking in 
upon the peace which, alas! she was not des- 
tined to enjoy for long. 

One morning, as they sat at breakfast, the 
omnibus, which had been sent to meet the early 
train, drove up . as usual to the hotel. A 
moment later the hall porter opened the dining- 
153 


154 


REFINING FIRES 


room door and beckoned a waiter to him. The 
message he gave was to the effect that a 
gentleman had arrived and was asking for 
Monsieur and Madame Mauvoisin. The meal 
was nearly over, and, with an expression of 
wonder as to who the unexpected visitor could 
be, Raoul rose from the table and accompanied 
Lucienne to £he drawing-room. 

“Frederic ! What on earth brings you here?” 
Lucienne’s cry of horror and amazement was 
drowned in the words of her husband’s 
exclamation; for the visitor was none other 
than De Charolles. 

“What a welcome, when I have travelled all 
the way from Paris on purpose to enjoy your 
company!” laughed the newcomer, who ap- 
peared to be in the best of spirits. “What 
brings me here ? Well, what has brought your- 
self, may I ask?” 

“I?” Raoul was only half serious as he 
replied. “Oh, I came for my health 1” 

De Charolles laughed again, showing the 
pointed white teeth which to Lucienne always 
looked cruel and wolfish. 

“Judging from appearances, then, the place 
must be unrivalled as a health resort. I was 


DE CHAROLLES 


155 


certainly right to come here for the few days 
that I can spare from business. Cauterets is 
so far,” he added as an after-thought. 

There was nothing in this explanation to 
arouse suspicion as to any ulterior motive for 
this visit; yet, from the first, some instinct told 
Lucienne that their visitor was anxious to 
secure a tete-a-tete with Raoul, but that he hesi- 
tated to ask her to leave them alone together. 
A plea of business would have served his 
purpose in any ordinary case; but Lucienne 
could only think that his secret was so 
important that he dared not even let her guess 
at its existence, fearing that, with the curiosity 
and pertinacity for which women are famous, 
she would persuade Raoul to tell her. 

They had long arranged to make an 
excursion, before their departure, to the light- 
house that stands at the entrance of the bay; 
and Raoul was congratulating himself, as he 
iressed for dinner, that De Charolles could now 
accompany them upon their trip. Raoul was 
in his element on occasions such as this 
expedition. During his stay at Croisic he had 
made friends with a number of people, whom 
he now invited to join in his day’s enjoyment. 


156 


REFINING FIRES 


He had hired a small steam yacht to convey 
the whole party, numbering twenty-eight or 
thirty persons ; and, had the weather also been 
ordered, it could not have been more perfect. 
The sea was like a crystal mirror under an 
unbroken expanse of blue sky. The only 
ripples on its surface were those that were 
made by the boat itself as it steamed along 
the bay toward the lighthouse, which stands on 
a rocky island that is invisible at high water. 

Here it was that the luncheon was served; 
and by the time it was fully over, and the 
mechanical working of the light had been duly 
inspected, the weather was fbund to have 
changed, and the captain of the yacht sent 
word to Raoul that it would be advisable to 
make as little further delay as possible. Look- 
ing down from above, it seemed a perilous 
moment when the passengers had to loose 
their hold of the iron ladder and let themselves 
down into the little boat that was waiting for 
them. The host and hostess, with De Charolles 
and one other man, were the last to be taken off. 
The guest was the first to go doAvn to the boat, 
followed by Raoul. 

“Xou need not be afraid,” he said to 


DE CHAROLLES 


157 


Lucienne, who seemed to be nervous even after 
watching the safe descent of all the other 
ladies. “I will be ready to catch you in the 
boat. Follow me now; and remember, if you 
do happen to slip, I shall not let you fall.” 

She smiled at him, and, as soon as his head 
had disappeared over the edge of the plateau, 
prepared to carry out his directions. She let 
herself down carefully, clinging to the iron 
rungs. Her feet were safe upon the ladder, 
and she was about to feel for the second step, 
when, without the slightest warning, De 
Charolles sprang off the door ledge, swinging 
himself past her with a hasty word of warning. 

“Take care, Lucienne! I am coming!” 

As he spoke he dropped into her place in the 
boat, which, with one dexterous push, he sent 
flying from the foot of the ladder; so that, 
before Raoul and the two sailors had recovered 
from their stupefaction, they found themselves 
halfway to the steamer. 

“Turn, men — turn!” said Raoul, standing up 
in his place and stretching out his arms as 
though he could steady the slender, swaying 
figure that clung in a paroxysm of terror to 
the ladder far above him. 


158 


REFINING FIRES 


“Sit down, Raoul!” De Charolles dragged 
his brother-in-law into the boat. 

“A hundred francs,” cried Raoul, “to anyone 
who will hold the lady safe until the boat can 
reach her.” 

Instantly one of the sailors was in the water 
swimming toward the ladder. 

“Now to the steamer!” cried the Count. But 
Raoul turned upon him. 

“Back to the lighthouse !” he roared. “I am 
master. What do you mean? Do you want to 
kill her?” * 

De Charolles bent over and said something 
in his brother-in-law’s ear, and at the same 
moment a triumphant cry from the sailor above 
told them that Lucienne was safe. 

“Hold on, little lady!” called the sailor, as 
he clambered up the steps and put his wet arm 
about her waist. “Don’t look down; it will 
only make you giddy. You are quite safe 
now.” 

The ordeal was over. But Lucienne’s 
anguish was no less than it had been in the 
moment of peril. It came to her that this had 
been no mere accident ; it was part of the plot 
she had been trying to frustrate. So far she 


DE CHAROLLES 


159 


had been successful in keeping her husband out 
of the clutches of his brother-in-law; but De 
Charolles, not to be foikd, resorted to this 
cowardly and dangerous trick. 

The whole party were waiting anxiously for 
her on the steamer, but she had eyes for no one 
except Raoul. But even at this moment, when 
she was just restored to him, she saw and felt 
that something else was filling his mind. In the 
short space of time since they had parted, his 
whole appearance had changed. He spoke and 
moved like a man in a dream. The others 
thought that it was her danger that made him 
look so altered and so pre-occupied, but 
Lucienne knew better. Yes, she knew that De 
Charolles had succeeded in his plan; and, what- 
ever his secret was, he had revealed it to Raoul 
during the time that her accident had left them 
alone together. And her fears were only 
increased when the next morning she was 
greeted with the news that De Charolles had 
returned to Paris by the night train. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


MYSTERY 

Raoul spent the day following De Cha- 
rolles’ departure in lounging about the pier. 
There was evidently something on his mind; 
but, as he said nothing about it, Lucienne did 
not question him, only her foreboding of evil 
became more insistent. Once she suggested 
gently that he should go and take his daily 
swim, but he answered her pettishly: 

“I am tired of bathing — in fact, I am sick 
of Croisic and of the sea altogether. We had 
better leave here.” 

Lucienne turned her head away to hide the 
tears that she could not control. Raoul was 
evidently determined to keep his secret, and 
both of them were relieved when some friends 
came up and joined them. In the course of 
conversation, Raoul casually remarked that 
they were obliged to leave Croisic sooner than 
160 


MYSTERY 


161 


they had intended ; and during the day 
Lucienne heard him repeating this to others, 
and even mentioning that they were to start 
for home the next morning. 

The Raoul Mauvoisins were the first of the 
family to return to Paris ; but the party from 
Cauterets soon followed their example. And 
before long Lucienne found herself living the 
life she had led before their departure for 
Croisic, only the spectre which had haunted her 
ever since that fateful visit to Lozares had 
grown so menacing that it now overshadowed 
all her other trials and troubles. But she had 
to bear her burden alone — alone except for the 
one unfailing Friend, who has promised from 
all ages that they who come to Him labouring 
and heavy burdened. He will refresh. So 
Lucienne looked to God, and prayed and 
waited. 

By September most of their friends had 
returned to town, and invitations began to come 
to the Mauvoisins for dinners and other 
entertainments. Formerly Raoul had been 
unwilling ever to refuse an invitation, and 
Lucienne had often wished that he was less 
indefatigable in his search for amusement. But 


162 


REFINING FIRES 


now such a change had come over him that 
refusals were sent more often than accept- 
ances; Lucienne was quite surprised when 
he told her that he wished to accept an 
invitation to dinner sent to them by Monsieur 
and Madame Gerard, who since returning 
from Russia had taken up their abode in a 
charming house a short distance outside of 
Paris. A party of nearly forty of their most 
intimate friends had been asked to dinner; and 
the remainder of their acquaintances were 
bidden to join them only in the evening, to 
admire all the beautiful things they had 
brought with them from their foreign home, 
and to listen to the music which would be pro- 
vided for their enjoyment. 

Raoul and Lucienne were almost the last of 
the more privileged band to arrive ; and 
although Lucienne had donned her festive 
apparel with a heavy heart, merely standing 
passively whilst her maid adorned her, the 
effect produced could not have been better. 
Her stately figure, peculiar style of beauty, was 
so enhanced by the way she was dressed that, 
when she entered the drawing-room where 
Madame Gerard and her guests were as- 


MYSTERY 


163 


sembled, there was a sudden pause in the 
conversation, quickly followed by a murmur of 
admiration from at least half of those present. 

Lucienne Mauvoisin was unconscious alike 
of the sensation her appearance had caused and 
of the fuel that this sensation had added to the 
fire of Madame de Charolles’ jealousy of her. 
Her thoughts were taken up with Raoul, for 
he sat in full view of her at the brilliantly 
lighted table. She could not help noticing how 
much he had altered during the past few 
months. It seemed as though the time at 
Croisic, instead of doing him good, had (done 
him positive harm. Afterward, when the iueal 
was over and the guests had returned to the 
drawing-room, he did not join in the general 
conversation, but stood apart from the others, 
his eyes seeking the door restlessly as each 
newcomer was announced. Many of Madame 
Gerard’s guests were strangers to Lucienne, 
so she could not even guess who it was that her 
husband was expecting; but before very long 
she saw, by the sudden change of his expression, 
not only that the guest, whoever he might be, 
had arrived, but also that his advent was any- 
thing but welcome to Raoul. 


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REFINING FIRES 


Following the direction in which he was 
looking, she saw a small dark man approaching 
their hostess, and bowing low before her. This 
done, and having received a few gracious words 
of greeting from her, he moved aside and stood 
looking round him uncertainly. It was evident 
that he was a stranger not only to Lucienne, 
but to most of his fellow-guests. For a few 
moments no one spoke to him; then Lucienne 
saw De Charolles advance and greet him coldly, 
yet as an acquaintance. 

De Charolles and his friend were gradually 
approaching the door; and, turning to her 
neighbour, Lucienne questioned her impul- 
sively. 

“Do you know that man to whom my 
brother-in-law is speaking?” she asked. j 

“No, Madame. I have never seen him 
before. Tbe Gerards must have made bis 
acquaintance when they were abroad, for he 
does not seem to know anyone here excepting 
M. de Charolles.” 

A movement among the guests allowed 
Lucienne to change her place; and again she 
asked the same question, receiving in reply 
almost the same answer. 


MYSTERY 


165 


From the place where she now stood she 
could see Raoul ; he was standing somewhat in 
the shadow, and Lucienne was quite sure that 
he had braced himself to face some cruel ordeal. 
The stranger and De Charolles had by this 
time reached the door, and Lucienne saw the 
latter turn and make a slight but decided sign 
to Raoul. No one but a close observer could 
have connected this sign with Raoul’s quick 
movement; but Lucienne saw he was obeying 
some prearranged signal, and she determined 
that he should not leave the room without 
knowing that she was aware of his absence. It 
was easy now for her to slip through the crowd 
unnoticed, and at the door she waited for her 
husband. 

“Where are you going?” she asked, in a tone 
that she tried to make unconcerned. 

Raoul glanced at her in surprise, and she 
caught the unutterable sadness that lay in the 
depths of his eyes. 

“We are going to smoke.” 

She started at the answer to her question; 
and, turning quickly, she came face to face with 
her brother-in-law. Their eyes met, and 
Lucienne could see that, under his dark 


166 


REFINING FIRES 


moustache, De Charolles’ lips were closed 
resolutely. If he was steeling himself against 
any appeal, it was unnecessary. Ignoring his 
existence, she laid her hand on her husband’s 
arm. 

^‘Don’t smoke too much, dear!” she said. 
“You know it is not good for you.” 

“Oh, it will do me no harm!” he replied half 
impatiently, yet her ears caught the almost 
hopeless cadence in his voice. 

“Come on, Raoul!” called De Charolles. 
“We are waiting for you.” 

Raoul moved away, evidently unwilling, yet 
apparently unable to refuse; and Lucienne was 
left standing in the doorway all alone. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE STRANGER 

Raoul followed De Charolles through 
several rooms that opened one from the other, 
until at length they reached a smaller apart- 
ment, which was filled with clouds of blue 
smoke curling upward from the cigars and 
cigarettes of the ten or twelve guests who had 
already sought its open doors. Lucienne 
watched them disappear. The stranger was 
not in sight, and she concluded therefore that 
he, too, had gone to the smoking-room. 

The drawing-rooms by this time were nearly 
full; and, in spite of open windows, the heat 
was intense. By ten o’clock everyone had 
arrived; and the refreshing breezes that stole 
in from behind the silken curtains were ruth- 
lessly shut out, as the music was beginning. 

Lucienne looked around anxiously for 
Raoul. Other men who had gone to smoke 
167 


168 


REFINING FIRES 


after dinner had come back, but of her 
husband and his companions there was no sign. 
Finally she decided to go in search of him. 
She had often visited Madame Gerard, and 
knew her way about the house perfectly; so 
that when, under cover of a brilliant sonata 
which was being played by a well-known 
pianist, she managed to glide into the shadow 
of the portiere that hung close beside her, she 
was at no loss where to go. Luckily for the 
success of her plans, the attendants had for 
the moment deserted the cloak-room; and, 
feeling like a thief, she passed into the semi- 
darkness, and seized a long, dark-coloured 
cloak that was lying on a chair. This com- 
pletely covered her white gown, so that, a 
shadow amongst shadows, she could go unseen 
through the now deserted rooms. 

Even the smoking-room was empty; and, 
going farther, she entered the library, off which 
she knew there was an ante-room with a glass 
door opening on the terrace. Unlatching this 
door, she went cautiously out into the darkness. 
The night air struck her sharply after the heat 
of the drawing-room, and she drew her cloak 
more closely round her. She passed along the 


THE STRANGER 


169 


terrace, protected herself by the surrounding 
darkness, yet able to see clearly into the empty 
rooms. Neither De Charolles, nor the stranger, 
nor Raoul himself was anywhere to be 
seen. 

“My God, my God, where have they taken 
him?” she murmured under her breath, as, 
having reached the last window, she realised 
that her search was in vain. But, as though in 
answer to her cry, the remembrance came to 
her of a small room opening off the farther side 
of the library, which Monsieur Gerard had 
fitted up for his botanical studies. It was a 
small apartment, barely furnished, and its 
window opened down to the ground. 

With noiseless tread, Lucienne retraced her 
footsteps. Something told her that she had at 
last run her quarry to earth ; but, passing round 
the pillar which supported the veranda, she 
saw that a pair of heavy curtains were drawn 
together across the window, which was care- 
fully closed. No sound was to be heard; but 
a single ray of light struggled through the 
curtains, showing that, in all probability, the 
room was occupied. 

Suddenly there was a crash as though a chair 


170 


REFINING FIRES 


or table had been overturned, and immediately 
two voices were raised in altercation. One of 
the speakers she recognised as being De 
Charolles; the other voice she more than 
guessed belonged to the stranger. At that 
moment she would have given all she possessed 
to see through the curtain that obstructed her 
view. The voices inside went on. They were 
raised angrily; and, taking advantage of this, 
Lucienne stretched her hand to where the 
fastening lay on the inside of the window 
against which she was leaning. It was a vain 
hope that prompted the movement, for every- 
thing was secure. The single narrow line of 
light falling there showed that there was a 
crack in the glass across one corner of u.e 
window. But what use was that to her? Her 
hand fell to her side, and as it did so a new 
ray of hope was born. Could she — dared she 
— cut across this broken triangle with the 
diamond at her wrist on which the light had 
played for an instant? Inside, the talking stiU 
went on; there was a shuffling of feet, a rear- 
rangement of the furniture, and under cover of 
this she bravely pressed the diamond to the 
glass. 


THE STRANGER 


171 


The noise it made sounded like thunder in 
her ears, and she could not believe that she was 
unheard. 

Very gently she loosened the smaller 
triangle from the single piece of wood that 
held it. She was wonderfully skilful; for not 
only did she escape without a scratch, but her 
task was finished even more noiselessly than it 
had been begun. There was space enough for 
her bare arm to pass in, and cautiously she 
seized the border of the curtain and drew it 
slightly toward her. There were three men in 
the room, which had been laid out for card 
playing. All the tables but one were now 
deserted, and the trio she sought were seated 
round this one. It was as Lucienne had fore- 
seen. The stranger whom Raoul had followed 
from the drawing-room was seated sideways to 
the window and opposite Raoul, whose face was 
drawn and ghastly white. His opponent was 
livid with rage. De Charolles alone was 
smiling, and the words of Lozares came back 
to the hidden watcher. Truly it was a diabolic 
smile. 

For a moment or two the game went on in 
silence; then the stranger pushed aside the last 


172 


REFINING FIRES 


card that Raoul had played. Diving into his 
pocket he pulled out a bundle of bank notes, 
and, counting them over, flung a number of 
them on the table. Raoul took them up with- 
out saying a word, and Lucienne saw that the 
muscles of his face were tense and rigid. There 
was certainly nothing of the triumphant victor 
about him. 

The play began again, and presently a 
second bundle of notes followed the flrst into 
Raoul’s pocket. But this repeated misfortune 
was too much for the stranger to bear. He 
sprang to his feet and pushed the table from 
him. 

“I will not have any more of this !” he cried, 
angrily. “And, what is more, I shall be re- 
venged for what has been done this evening.” 

“What do you mean?” returned De 
Charolles. “Whom do you mean to threaten? 
You had better look to yourself.” 

He lowered his voice, and Lucienne heard 
no more. Whatever was said had the desired 
effect, for the stranger was silent, and turned 
with a sullen shrug to the door. Then Raoul 
rose from his place, and the three men went out 
together. Before Lucienne had time to move 


THE STRANGER 


173 


she heard them pass through the library and 
the anteroom; and, without any warning, they 
re-appeared on the terrace close beside her. 
They had come out through the door that she 
herself had left open, and she could only shrink 
back into the shadow, clinging to the stone pil- 
lar that sheltered her from view. 

“Go straight on.” It was De Charolles who 
spoke in an undertone. “You will find the 
gate there to the left.” 

“All right.” 

The stranger stepped on to the gravel and 
passed out into the darkness, without even a 
parting word to his companions. The brothers- 
in-law stood for a moment on the threshold; 
then De Charolles went out to the terrace, and 
Raoul followed him. They were evidently go- 
ing back that way to the smoking-room. 

“If every day could be like this!” De 
Charolles’ voice expressed the liveliest satisfac- 
tion. 

“One day is as bad as another to me,” 
returned Raoul. 

“N onsense !” retorted the other. “Can’t you 
have a little self-restraint?” 

“Self-restraint!” burst out Raoul. “If I did 


174 


REFINING FIRES 


not restrain myself almost beyond endurance 
I should fling a whole pack of cards in your face 
3efore everyone rather than sit down again with 
one of your dupes.” 

“Pray do so, then,” replied De Charolles in 
tones of icy politeness. “You will merely be 
proclaiming your sister’s ruin to the world. On 
the other hand, if we can go on as we are, a few 
nights more like this one may save her. Re- 
member I ask nothing in my own name.” 

“If it lasts much longer it will kill me,” 
groaned Raoul. 

“Bah, what folly ! You make me laugh when 
you speak like that.” 

Their voices died away, and the crunching 
of the gravel under their feet in the distance 
told the listener that she was free. Stealing 
back to the library, she threw her borrowed 
wrap aside ; and, luck again favouring her, she 
managed to mingle in the crowd that was 
gathered round the door of the room where the 
concert was still going on. 

“What a splendid voice!” said someone in 
her ear as a celebrated baritone stepped from 
the platform., 

“Yes, indeed,” said Lucienne, mechanically. 


THE STRANGER 


175 


answering by instinct a remark she had hardly 
heard. 

Then, after a short pause, the opening bars 
of another song were played upon the piano. 
Prom where Lucienne sat she could not see the 
performers, but she knew the air, and it 
brought her back with a shock to the horror of 
the evening. Oh, the mockery of it all I 
Madame de Charolles, beautifully dressed, 
smiling in gracious thanks for the applause that 
greeted her appearance, stepped upon the plat- 
form, with her music in her hand. Her voice 
rose clear and true, vibrating through the room, 
repeating in tragic tones the words that, had 
she but known what Lucienne knew, might 
have been wrung from her in deadliest 
earnest: — 

“A mystery. 

It is a hellish mystery. 

I cannot understand it; 

I cannot defend myself against it. 

And my heart beats high with fear.’* 

Lucienne closed her eyes and struggled to 
maintain her self-control. Her sister-in-law 
had done little enough to win her liking, yet 
at that moment she yearned toward her, pitying 


176 


REFINING FIRES 


her from the depths of her heart. The concert 
was drawing to a close; a part song arranged 
for several voices was the last item, and 
Lucienne wondered vaguely if she could sit 
through it all. Her head was swimming, the 
room began to turn around. She clasped the 
arms of her chair, counting the moments until 
she would be free to move. At last the music 
ceased, and, coming to herself with a start, she 
found her husband standing by her. 

“I have been looking for you everywhere,” 
he said, but his voice sounded faint and far 
away. “I did not know you had left the other 
room.” 

She stood up with an effort, but she could 
not speak. 

“What is the matter, dear?” he asked 
anxiously. “Your face is flushed—” 

“Take me home, Raoul,” she murmured. “I 
feel so ill!” 

“The heat of these rooms has been too much 
for you. Lean on my arm and let us go. The 
carriage is waiting.” 

He led her out, and wrapped her tenderly 
in her cloak. She was clinging to him and 
could hardly stand. He lifted her into the 


THE STRANGER 


177 


carriage and told the coachman to drive home 
quickly. 

“How are you feeling, dear?” he asked. 
“What can I do for you?” 

“Open the window,” she said, faintly. “I 
cannot breathe.” 

He did her bidding, and for a moment the 
cool night air seemed to revive her, but soon 
she began to shiver. 

“How cold it is !” she said. 

He laid his hand on hers, and found it 
burning hot. 

“Cold?” he said, drawing up the window 
again. “You must be feverish. It was suffo- 
cating in those rooms.” 

“No, no!” she cried, wildly. “It was cold — 
cold and dark — cold — ” 

But even as she spoke her head fell against 
his shoulder, and he saw that she had fainted 
away. 


CHAPTER XX 


ILLNESS 

When Lucienne re-opened her eyes, she was 
lying in her own room. The servants had been 
terrified at the sight of their master carrying 
his inanimate burden. One had gone hastily 
for the doctor, a second lit the fire, while a third 
helped to administer the remedies that were at 
hand. They chafed her hands and feet, and 
tried vainly to press a few drops of brandy 
through the clenched teeth. At last she stirred 
faintly, and spoke in a feeble voice. 

“Where am I?” 

“You are at home, dear,” answered her 
husband, holding her hand in his own. “Look 
at me! There, now! Don’t you know your 
own room?” 

“Who is speaking?” she asked, turning her 
head on the pillow and gazing vacantly at him. 

“Lucienne! It is I — Raoul.” He bent 
178 


ILLNESS 


179 


anxiously over her, murmuring under his 
breath: “Is it possible that she does not know 
me?” 

“Don’t shut the door!” she cried. “They 
have gone out by it. Oh!” — her voice rose to a 
discordant wail — “oh, they are killing him, 
killing him ! For he said, Tf this goes on it will 
kill me.’ ” 

Raoul dropped her hand and sat as one 
turned to stone. Feeling herself free from his 
restraining clasp, Lucienne sat up in the bed, 
panting for breath, her face flushed, her hair 
hanging in disorder about her. 

“She must lie down,” whispered the fright- 
ened maid. “Make her lie down, sir, or she will 
catch her death of cold.” 

“Cold !” repeated Lucienne. “Oh, yes, it was 
very cold out on the terrace !” 

“She is raving,” said the maid, trying vainly 
to make her lie down. 

“Go away!” said Raoul, in a low voice. 

“But, sir — ” expostulated the maid. 

“Go!” he repeated sternly. “I will see to 
her ; if she wants you, I will call.” 

His tone was peremptory, and the woman 
dared not disobey him. 


180 


REFINING FIRES 


Left alone, he insisted quietly though firmly 
on Lucienne lying down; then he drew up the 
blankets and held them over her. She did not 
resist him, but sighed deeply and lay still. 
Soon, however, she began to speak again. 

“You were right, Lozares,” she murmured. 
“You said he was a gambler.” 

Raoul raised his head quickly, and met his 
wife’s gaze turned full upon him. 

“Will you do something for me, sir?” she 
pleaded. “There is a knife sticking into me 
here” — she placed her hands upon her chest. 
“Please pull it out — it is so painful!” 

Raoul groaned in anguish. 

“Lucienne,” he said, taking her hands and 
speaking very distinctly. “Raoul is very much 
to be pitied.” 

“To be pitied!” she repeated. “Yes, I know 
it. But why do they go on singing and laugh- 
ing? No one is doing anything to help him.” 
Once again she sat up in bed. “Let us go to 
him.” 

“No,” returned Raoul, firmly. “You must 
lie down. If you remain still, I promise he will 
come to you.” 

Just as he had persuaded her to keep still. 


ILLNESS 


181 


the doctor was announced; and, after exam- 
ining his patient, he found that she was 
suffering from an acute attack of pleurisy, with 
high fever. 

“She has caught a severe cold,” he said; 
“but that is not enough to account for the 
excitable state she is in. She must have had a 
shock of some kind as well.” 

“You are right,” said Raoul — “at least, so I 
gather from what my wife has been saying in 
her delirium.” 

The doctor wrote out two prescriptions, 
which were handed to the servant; then, 
turning to Raoul, he asked whether he had 
taken any steps to procure a nurse. The 
patient was quiet now, and seemed to be 
sleeping. 

“When she wakes, is it likely that she will 
be delirious?” asked Raoul, before answering 
the doctor’s question. 

“Probably: — at least, at intervals.” 

“Then I think it would be better to have 
someone besides her maid.” 

“Most decidedly,” replied the doctor. “Shall 
I send a nurse from the hospital?” 

Raoul hesitated for a moment. 


182 


REFINING FIRES 


“Can you recommend a truly reliable 
person?” he asked. 

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. 

“I understand,” he said. “A nursing Sister 
is what you want.” 

“Yes, certainly,” said Raoul, eagerly. “It 
will be most kind if you will send one to us.” 

A few hours later a Bon Secours Sister was 
installed in charge of the case. But, even so, 
Raoul would not leave his wife’s bedside; and 
when, worn out by all that he had gone through, 
he felt himself falling asleep, he made the 
Sister promise to wake him if his wife began 
to rave. 

Presently the footman knocked at the door, 
and insisted on delivering a message to his 
master. 

“M. de Charolles is outside,” whispered the 
man, when Raoul had aroused himself 
sufficiently to listen. “I told him that Madame 
was ill and that you were with her, sir; but he 
says he must see you, all the same.” 

“Give me a piece of paper.” 

The man had never before heard his master 
speak in so stern a voice, and he gave him what 
he asked without delay. 


ILLNESS 


183 


“It is useless for you to wait,” he wrote. “I 
cannot see you now; and as soon as I can do 
so, I will let you know. Can you not leave me 
in peace when I am overwhelmed by my own 
troubles?” 

He sealed the note and handed it to the 
servant. 

“That is the answer,” he said shortly. “Give 
it to M. de Charolles.” And as the man left 
the room Raoul locked the door and laid the 
key upon the table. 

At that moment Lucienne sat up in bed and 
began to gaze wildly about. 

“Another attack of fever is coming on,” 
whispered the nun. 

Raoul looked quickly toward the bed, then 
to the nurse, hesitating for a moment, and then 
speaking quickly and low. 

“Sister,” he said, “I am going to be perfectly 
open with you. I should like to be left alone 
with my wife. You will forgive me for asking 
this?” 

“I am here to be a help and not a hindrance,” 
the nun replied, with a smile. “You have only 
to tell me what you wish, and if I can I will do 
it. But please remember that it is of the utmost 


184 


REFINING FIRES 


importance that the patient should not be 
allowed to throw off the blankets; everything 
depends upon her not catching further cold.” 

“I will take care,” said Raoul, as he held 
open the door for her. 

Lucienne was moaning piteously and 
turning from side to side. 

“What is it, dear?” he said tenderly. 

“Take the band out of my hair,” she begged. 
“And, oh, do let us go home ! The light — the 
glare — the music! Oh, my heart is breaking!” 

“Lucienne, tell me what is making you so 
mhappy?” he asked; but she would not answer; 
only when he repeated his question, she mur- 
mured brokenly: 

“I have kept your secret, Lozares ; but you 
do not know how heavy the burden is that you 
have laid upon me.” 

Raoul’s expression changed. It was the 
second time she had spoken of this man. 

“Lozares is far away, dear,” he said; “he 
cannot hear what you are saying.” 

But she did not heed him, and struggled to 
get up. 

“Pedro, Pedro!” she cried agonisingly. 
“His name is not Gilbert: it is Frederic.” 


ILLNESS 


185 


“Gilbert!” exclaimed Raoul, more and more 
bewildered. “But that is the name.” 

“The name?” she repeated. “How many 
names has he?” Then, without pausing for an 
answer, she went on: “Get up, Pedro, and come 
with me. We must make him give up the 
money that he won so unfairly. It is mine. 
They have made me suffer too much for its 
loss for me to be afraid. What! you will not 
come? Oh, I forgot! He cannot come — ^his 
leg is broken. He is covered with blood.” And 
she fell back shuddering on her pillows. “I 
understand. We cannot move, either of us. 
We are both dead.” 

“Lucienne, Lucienne, you must not say 
that!” cried Raoul. “Lie quiet now and rest. 
You must try to get well for my sake — for the 
sake of those who love you — ^your father 
and — ” 

“Hush! hush!” she said, rousing herself 
again. “You must not call my father. What 
would happen if he saw me kneeling here at 
Pedro’s feet?” 

“Always that accursed name!” muttered 
Raoul through his teeth. “What does it mean?” 

“Raoul, Raoul!” said Lucienne. “He is 


186 


REFINING FIRES 


breaking my heart. No, do not blame him. 
Only pity him. He is playing cards with the 
stranger — the stranger who has hell in his 
eyes.” Then she turned and clung to her 
husband. “Send him away. Don’t let him 
touch me. Don’t let him call me his sister. I 
know he is Louise’s husband; but, oh, it was 
he who stole my fortune!” 

“Lucienne,” said her husband, trying hard 
to control his voice, “Frederie has nothing to 
do with you or your fortune.” 

“I know you think so, but that is our 
secret.” 

“Tell it to me, then.” 

“It was Pedro that staked the money, you 
know — ” 

“And Frederic de Charolles won it!” inter- 
rupted Raoul, a ray of understanding coming 
suddenly to him. He sprang to his feet. 
“When did he do that? Tell me all — ^when 
and where?” 

Uneonsciously Raoul’s voice rose and 
sounded menaeing in the poor dulled ears. 

“Help, help!” she cried in sudden alarm. “I 
am afraid of this man.” 

The nun, hearing her patient’s voice raised. 


ILLNESS 


187 


now opened the door and asked if she was 
wanted. 

“No, Sister,” replied Raoul; but she came 
forward, and began to prepare the medicine 
that the doctor had ordered, 

“She is worn out,” she said, looking down at 
the frail white face. “She cannot go on like 
this. She must take this medicine. It will 
soothe her for the time at least.” 

Lucienne took the dose without protest, and 
it began immediately to have effect. 

“You ought to go and rest yourself,” 
whispered the nun to Raoul. “She will be 
quiet now, and later she may need you.” 

He hesitated for a moment ; but the regular, 
laboured breathing of Lucienne assured him 
that for the present she would say no more, and 
he went to his room. 

It was easy for the nun to advise him to sleep, 
but he could not close his eyes. His head 
was in a whirl of conflicting thoughts. Were 
Lucienne’s words merely the ravings of a mind 
unhinged by fever, or had they some founda- 
tion in reality? One thing was clear to him: 
Lucienne had in some mysterious manner seen 
him gambling at the Gerards in company with 


188 


REFINING FIRES 


De Charolles; but was her accusation against 
this latter as regarded her own fortune in any 
way justified? What could she possibly know 
of De Charolles’ affairs in the past? 

“I ought to have confided in her,” he 
muttered to himself. “It is more difficult to 
deceive a woman than a man, and I might have 
saved myself much if I had insisted on telling 
her all. God knows what she has found out.” 

It was useless to continue such thoughts as 
these, especially as there were duties awaiting 
him. His mother was unaware of Lucienne’s 
sudden illness, and he could not delay further 
in letting her know of it. It did not take long 
to write her a few lines ; but the second letter, 
that was of equal importance, could not be so 
hastily dispatched. Taking a sheet of paper 
from his desk, he dipped his pen in the ink 
resolutely and wrote the date. Then, however, 
he paused, frowning and biting his penholder 
in indecision. Finally, he took a fresh supply 
of ink and wrote the one word : 

“Madame , — ’* 

Again he paused and looked at his 
handiwork. There was a movement in the 


ILLNESS 


189 


next room — a faint moan. His face softened 
at the soimd ; and, seizing the paper, he tore it 
across and threw it from him. Taking up 
another sheet, he began to write again: 

“My dear Mother, — ” 

Evidently this pleased him little better than 
his first attempt. 

“Well, it can’t be helped,” he muttered. “It 
means nothing, and certainly it. is more seemly 
than the other.” 

After a moment’s hesitation he went on 
quickly with his letter: 

“Lucienne has caught cold, and will not be 
able to go to see you for a few days. Be not 
anxious about her. We hope she will be her- 
self again in a short time. 

“Believe me, your — ” 

He paused again. How could he finish his 
letter? How could he sign himself to the 
parents who were forbidden to enter the house 
that ought to have been a second home to them? 
He pondered for a long time; then, with a 
movement of impatience, he tore this second 
letter into ribbons, and dashed off a third note. 
This one he was determined should be the last: 


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REFINING FIRES 


“Madame Raoul Mauvoisin, being confined 
to the house for a few days by a cold, regrets 
that she will be unable to have the pleasure of 
visiting Monsieur and Madame de Barli. She 
begs that they will not be anxious on her 
account; and she will send them news of her 
progress each day until she is able, in person, 
to announce to them her complete recovery.” 

“There!” he said to himself, folding up the 
paper and thrusting it into an envelope. “That 
is what things have come to. A stranger would 
think I was writing to a tradesman. Well, it 
can’t be helped.” 

He rang the bell and told the servant to take 
the note for Madame Mauvoisin to her house, 
and to put the other in the post. 

“Remember,” he said as the man went out, 
“no one but the nurse is to go into Madame’s 
room under any pretext whatever — no one, 
remember.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


BAOUL QUESTIONS 

During the days that followed, Raoul was 
able to gather from Lucienne’s incoherent 
words a more or less complete history of what 
her life had been since her marriage — ^the 
slights, the sufferings, the self-restraint, but 
more than all else the deep and lasting love that 
his wife had borne him. Of Lozares and his 
connection with De Charolles in the past he was 
still uninformed; and as Lucienne came back 
to full consciousness, it was impossible to 
question her in detail on a subject that would 
have excited her and renewed her fever. 

At the end of three weeks the doctor 
pronounced her convalescent, and she was able 
to begin to occupy herself, thus freeing Raoul 
from his constant attendance upon her. It 
seemed, however, that the cloud that had hung 
over him so long deepened each time that he 
191 


192 


REFINING FIRES 


went out; and at last Lucienne determined to 
put in foree a resolution that she had made 
during the quiet days after her illness. 

“Raoul,” she said, as he sat by her one 
evening, silent and preoccupied as usual, “there 
is something on your mind, and I want you to 
tell me what it is.” 

Lucienne expected to receive an evasive 
answer, but to her surprise Raoul made no 
attempt at denial. 

“You are quite right, Lucienne,” he said 
sadly; “there is a heavy weight upon me that 
is crushing me to the very earth.” 

“My poor dear!” she said. “Can you not 
tell me what it is? Perhaps I could help you 
to bear it. I think God has spared my life 
that I may be some comfort to you in this trial 
that I have seen hanging over you for so long. 
Oh, dear Raoul, won’t you trust me and tell me 
what it is?” 

“I do trust you,” replied Raoul; “and I am 
sorry that, up to this, I have allowed myself to 
be persuaded to keep this secret from you. But, 
first of all, Lucienne, tell me one thing. You 
ask for my confidence, you want me to be open 
with you, but have you not kept something 


RAOUL QUESTIONS 193 

secret from me, too? Have you been open with 
me?” 

Lueienne’s pale cheeks flushed. 

“What do you mean?” she questioned in a 
startled tone. 

“You must not disturb yourself,” he said, 
“or I will not let you talk any more. Remem- 
ber, I am not flnding fault with you; I only 
want to know why you have kept from me the 
fact of your intercourse with — ” 

“With whom?” The question burst from 
Lucienne’s white lips, and Raoul answered in 
a whisper: 

“With Pedro Lozares.” 

For a moment she was silent, lying hack so 
still and white upon the cushions of her chair 
that he thought, with sudden fear, she had 
fainted, and he reached across to seize the bottle 
of smelling-salts that the nurse had left at her 
side. As he did so she put up her hand and 
held his in her own. 

“Forgive me 1” she murmured. “Had it been 
only you yourself, I should not have feared 
to trust you.” 

“Then it is true that you know where this 
man is — ^that you have seen him?” 


194 


REFINING FIRES 


She made a sign of affirmation, but she could 
not speak, and the tears began to trickle slowly 
down her cheeks. 

“Don’t cry, dear!” he said. “You know I 
am not angry with you. I only want to know 
the whole truth. How long is it since you have 
known his whereabouts?” 

“Nearly a year.” 

“A year!” 

Controlling herself, she told him how she had 
first discovered the fugitive’s hiding-place and 
the state in which he was. 

“Believe me,” she said, “I would not have 
kept his secret if any restitution had been 
possible ; but what good would it have done us 
all to drag him from his hiding-place, beggared, 
crippled, dying? It would only have hardened 
him; whilst as it is — oh, Raoul, if you knew how 
truly he repents you would not blame me !” 

“Blame you!” He looked down at her, and 
in that moment he was prouder of her and 
loved her better than ever bef ore. ‘ ‘ Give me his 
address,” he said gently. “I must go to see 
him.” 

He handed her a pencil and a piece of paper, 
and she wrote down what he asked. 


RAOUL QUESTIONS 195 


“And you really think one can believe what 
the scoundrel says?” 

“Yes, I am sure of it,” she answered firmly. 
“He is sincerely sorry, and I do not think 
anything would make Pedro Lozares deceive 
me now.” 

“Very well. There is no use in putting it 
off,” said Raoul. “I may as well go to see him 
at once.” 

“Promise me not to be too severe,” she 
pleaded, as he moved to go. 

And, looking down upon her in her weakness 
and her fragile beauty, he kissed her tenderly, 
and promised to do as she wished. 

On reaching the outer door of the apartment, 
Raoul paused for a moment as though 
a thought had struck him; and, putting down 
his hat, he went slowly back to his wife’s room. 

“No, I have not started yet,” he said in 
answer to her look of surprise. “I want to ask 
you another question. It may be better that I 
should know all before I see Lozares. Am I 
right in thinking that he said something about 
De Charolles?” 

“Who told you that?” cried Lucienne, 
breathlessly. 


196 


REFINING FIRES 


“Someone whose word you would find it very 
hard to disprove.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Lucienne. “I am 
sure I have been as silent as the grave, and have 
never told a single soul.” 

“Are you sure of that?” asked Raoul. 

She gazed at him a moment in amazement, 
then a light broke in upon her. 

“Ah, I understand!” 

“No one heard your wanderings but myself,” 
Raoul hastened to reassure her — “not even 
good Sister Claire.” 

“So you know all! How wonderful are 
God’s ways, and how little use it is for us to 
plan and strive without Him! I have thought 
and thought how I could ever tell you, and now 
you know all.” 

“Perhaps not all" replied her husband. 
“Remember, you were very incoherent.” 

“Then do you wish me to tell it to you 
again?” 

“Yes, dear!” 

“ I spoke of De Charolles?” 

“Yes, several times. It is about him that I 
want to question Lozares. Is it really the case 
that your fortune passed into his hands?” 


RAOUL QUESTIONS 197 


“Not all of it, but a great part.” 

“And he knows it?” 

She bowed her head. Then, as Raoul 
remained silent, absorbed in thought, Lucienne 
questioned him further. 

“What else did I say?” 

“You told of what occurred at Madame 
Gerard’s party.” 

“Then you know that I saw all?” 

Raoul sighed deeply, and Lucienne moved 
nearer to him. 

“For your own sake,” she pleaded, “free 
yourself from that man’s influence. He treats 
you as a tool — uses you to pander to his 
passions.” 

“Stop, dear! I am less weak than you 
think — less weak and more unfortunate. But, 
as you know so much, I had better tell you 
all. When a man imagines himself a financial 
genius he plays with millions as a child plays 
with a handful of sand. Then, when he quits 
the broad, open road of honesty and follows 
crooked paths, there is but one thing before 
him.” 

“What!” she cried. “Do you mean that De 
Charolles’ fortune is in danger?” 


198 


REFINING FIRES 


“Nay, more; I may say it is lost.” 

“Raoul!” There was no thought of self in 
the anguish that the single word betrayed. 
“Ruin, ruin on every side 1” 

“Yes, ruin,” said Raoul in a choked voice; 
“and worse — dishonour.” 

“Will his bank cease payment?” 

“Probably. Nothing is known for certain, 
as nothing is as yet absolutely lost, but every- 
thing is on the verge of ruin. Your fortune 
was lost by an outsider; ours — ” 

Lucienne was stunned by what she had 
heard. Her parents had taken the news of 
their loss hardly enough ; but to the Mauvoisins, 
whose lives were lived for nothing but pleasure 
and display, such a blow would be absolutely 
crushing. 

Raoul was shocked to see how terribly she 
took his revelations to heart, and he feared to 
have done her harm in her weak state. 

“I ought not to have told you this so soon,” 
he began; “but it was necessary that I should 
know as much as possible about Lozares — or, 
rather, about what he knew about Frederic.” 

“You should have asked me sooner,” said 
Lucienne. “I am quite well now.” 


RAOUL QUESTIONS 199 


“But how could you be so foolish as to run 
the risks you did that night?” 

“How could I think of being prudent at such 
a time ? Raoul, tell me who the stranger was ?” 

“An Ameriean, an adventurer, whom 
Frederic had got hold of. He was always on 
the look out for partners for me. It was he 
who got the man his invitation from the 
Gerards.” 

“And—” 

“He told me about his losses at Croisic, 
when — I need not go into such details.” 

“No, for I knew that, too. He told you of 
his impending ruin whilst he left me hanging 
on the ladder of the lighthouse.” 

“Don’t speak of it!” cried Raoul, covering 
his eyes with his hand. “It comes back too 
vividly to me still.” 

“Tell me more,” she pleaded. 

“I promised him I would come back to Paris 
at once. He said I could be of use to him, but 
it was not until after our return that he 
unfolded his scheme. He knew that I was 
extraordinarily lucky at cards, and at the club 
I was considered a good player. The fool had 
faith in making money at cards; but if he 


200 


REFINING FIRES 


himself had been seen gambling his name would 
have been brought into discredit in banking 
circles. No one will ever know what I have 
gone through during these last months. I 
should never have undertaken to help him if it 
had not been for Louise and the credit of the 
family; but I have drunk the dregs of 
humiliation. And, then, the sickening excite- 
ment of those games, where the stakes were 
sometimes as high as two hundred thousand 
francs!” 

“Oh, Raoul, how awful ! And what happened 
when you lost?” 

“I had to pay up. The Count advanced the 
money — ^borrowed it for the occasion. When 
I won — and certainly my luck has been mar- 
vellous — I paid my winnings in to him at once. 
He has been able in this way, and without 
exciting any suspicion (for no one guessed at 
our collaboration), to pay interest, amounting 
to seven or eight hundred thousand francs, on 
capital that he is supposed to have secured, but 
that is really lost. He did not intend to go on 
like this — ^his plan was merely to gain time 
until an expected rise in certain stocks set him 
on his feet again. If he had not assured me of 


RAOUL QUESTIONS 201 


this, nothing would have persuaded me to help 
him; for no one but a lunatic could think that 
gambling could keep such a business as his 
afloat for any length of time. No, all he asked 
was to gain time. The rise did come as he had 
foretold, but he did not benefit by it as much 
as he anticipated. Another movement, how- 
ever, is expected to take place any day now, 
and our salvation or our total ruin hangs on 
this — or, rather, on the possibility of keeping 
things afloat until the change comes; and every 
day this seems less possible. He has borrowed 
money right and left. There is not a bank in 
Paris that would advance him another franc. 
If he can hang on, things will right themselves. 
He will be able to meet his present liabilities; 
and as for the future, others at least will not 
have to suflPer.” 

“My poor Raoul ! Why did you not tell me 
this sooner?” 

Raoul shook his head. 

“You knew that I would have done all in 
my power to dissuade you?” went on Lucienne. 

“Frederic made me swear to keep it secret. 
It is extraordinary how he feared you.” 

“Does Louise suspect anything?” 


202 


REFINING FIRES 


“No. It is far better she should not. She 
will know all soon enough.” 

“And your parents?” 

“No, indeed!” 

“But, Raoul, is it right to keep your father 
in the dark? Could he not do something to 
help?” 

Again he shook his head. 

“No, Lucienne. From De Charolles’ story, 
I think he has been made use of already, though 
he is no more aware of it than the other clients 
of the hank.” 

“Do you mean to say that they will be 
involved in his ruin?” 

“I am afraid so.” 

“Oh, Raoul, Raoul, what can we do for 
them?” 

“Nothing at present, except to keep this 
awful thing from them as long as possible. Ah, 
well ! I have tried you too much already. Rest 
now whilst I go and visit that other robber.” 

“Don’t be too hard on him. Tell him I sent 
you to him — that you are my messenger.” 

“Then,” said Raoul, smiling sadly, “that 
means that I must be more than lenient with 
him.” 


RAOUL QUESTIONS 203 


“Raoul,” said Lucienne very earnestly, as he 
rose to leave her, “up to this we have both been 
in the wrong. We have tried to bear our own 
burden unaided, without seeking help from 
each other, and we have been punished.” 

He took her quickly in his arms and held her 
to him. 

“You are right as usual,” he answered. “In 
the past we have suffered separately; but the 
troubles that I fear the future holds for us we 
will bear together.” 

He had told her to rest, but she was too much 
upset by all she had heard to be able to keep 
still; and she paced the room, her mind filled 
with anguish. Wherever she turned, sorrow 
seemed to be pressing upon her. For her own 
share in the Mauvoisins’ fortune she gave no 
thought. She knew now that Raoul loved her, 
that he was at last really her own; and, with 
this knowledge, poverty was preferable to the 
lonely enjoyment of bodily comforts that had 
been hers for so long. 

But her parents-in-law? Involuntarily her 
own father’s words came back to her; and 
shudderingly she put her hands to her ears, as 
though she could thus shut out the remem- 


204 


REFINING FIRES 


brance of them: “May they be humbled to the 
dust ! May I live to see that woman wounded 
to the heart by one of her own children I” 


CHAPTER XXII 


EAOUL SEES LOZAEES 

“Oh, my God,” murmured Lucienne, “do 
not listen to such words ! The pleadings of the 
sorrowful rise up to Heaven, not their curses. 
I also am sorrowful; and, hy the sorrows of 
Thy Son, I beg for pardon and for mercy!” 

Kneeling, she took out her Rosary and began 
to repeat the prayers that have carried comfort 
to so many aching hearts, till she, too, was 
comforted; and, although her tears still fell, the 
bitterest sting of sorrow had passed away. 

“Well?” asked Lucienne, when Raoul 
returned. “Tell me about your visit to 
Lozares.” 

“My dear,” he said gravely, “there are things 
that must be seen to be believed.” 

“Then you no longer blame me?” 

He smiled as he made answer: 

“I have promised to take you to see your 
205 


206 


REFINING FIRES 


protege as soon as you are able to face those 
stairs again.” 

“Oh, Raoul!” Her eyes were wet as she 
raised them to his. “That is your best, your 
real self!” 

“Who could have imagined that the day 
would ever come when I should say this to you 
about the murderer of our happiness?” he went 
on. 

“But our happiness is not dead,” said 
Lucienne. “True, for a time it was threatened; 
but now, with God’s help, we shall make it 
secure again.” 

“The foundations will need to be firm,” 
returned Raoul, sighing; “for they will have 
much to withstand.” 

“Will the information that Pedro gave you 
be of use?” asked Lucienne. 

“Yes, it will. He told me everything he 
knew about De Charolles; and I find that 
several of the partners with whom he made me 
play are well-known gamblers, who often 
played with him when he himself used to make 
the money fly over the green tables.” 

“Then what do you propose doing?” 

“Nothing can be done now until we know 


RAOUL SEES LOZARES 207 


our fate. If we manage to escape complete 
ruin — and there is still hope, if we can tide over 
the next few days — ^Louise and the children 
must be provided for. Then I shall have to 
tell my father the state of the case, and we 
shall insist upon De Charolles’ affairs going 
into hquidation. That will enable us to prevent 
any possibility of such things happening again 
— it will tie his hands completely. If it cannot 
be managed otherwise, Pedro must appear as 
witness against him.” 

“Will that be necessary?” she asked 
anxiously. “You know I promised to keep 
him safe from pursuit.” 

“There is time enough to see to that,” replied 
Raoul. “If the worst comes, we can withdraw 
our charge against him, and that will insure his 
safety; so you need not worry about him. I 
shall not forget that he is your property. Cer- 
tainly you paid for him dearly enough. But, 
Lucienne, I must own that I was really touched 
by him. No one who saw him could doubt for 
a moment the sincerity of his regret.” 

“How dear of you to say so!” exclaimed 
Lucienne. 

“You see, I am not so bad,” returned Raoul, 


208 


REFINING FIRES 


smiling. “But now I must go out again. I 
came straight back to you after seeing Lozares, 
as I knew you would be anxious to hear of 
the interview; still it is most important that I 
should go to the Bomse. De Charolles does not 
expect any change for another week; but one 
cannot judge how things are going on unless 
one is on the spot. I was nearly forgetting a 
piece of good news that I have for you. Made- 
moiselle de Rochefeuille and her sister have 
come home. They were to have stayed in the 
country till November; but Madame de Man- 
telon was not feeling well, so they thought it 
wiser to return. The negro paid Lozares a visit 
the day before yesterday.” 

“That is good news, indeed!” exclaimed 
Lucienne. “But, remember, they know nothing 
of Lozares’ antecedents, and they must never 
be informed. To them, as to others, he is just 
Manuel, a poor Spaniard — ^nothing more.” 

“I am not so sure of their ignorance,” 
answered Raoul; “but, in any case, they shall 
learn nothing from me.” 

“Did you say that Jose had been to see Pedro 
two days ago?” 

“Yes, the day before yesterday,” said Raoul. 


RAOUL SEES LOZARES 209 


“Then they must have been back for three 
or four days. Do you think it would be too 
soon for me to go to see them this afternoon?” 

“You! But, Lucienne, you have not been 
out since your illness. You are not strong 
enough yet to pay visits.” 

“Only this one!” pleaded Lucienne. “It 
would not tire me in the least just to drive there 
and back again. There are no stairs or any- 
thing.” 

“Wrap yourself up well, then, dear; and I 
will call a carriage for you.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


EUIN 

Lucienne soon reached the Rue d’ Arras. 
Dismissing her maid, she crossed the courtyard 
and made her way to the quaint little house. As 
a rule, the ringing of the door bell brought out 
the griffon, barking fiercely; but to-day its 
soimds were merely echoed by a faint wail from 
the little dog, which was evidently shut up 
somewhere in the rear premises. The negro 
Jose stood in the shadow of the doorway, with- 
out a word. 

What a sight was before her eyes as she 
entered the room of Madame de Mantelon! 
She could neither advance nor retire; her limbs 
were trembling under her, and, falling on her 
knees, she buried her face in the thick folds of 
the curtain to stifie the sovmd of tears she could 
not restrain. 

Madame de Mantelon was lying on the bed, 
210 


RUIN 


211 


propped up by pillows almost to a sitting 
posture. Everything around her was draped 
in white, and, late autumn though it was, the 
room seemed to be full of flowers. The beauti- 
ful, worn features had the stamp of death upon 
them; but here it was no dreadful thing, no 
enemy to be faced. On the contrary, the 
radiance of the dying countenance expressed 
the words to which a great saint gave voice long 
ago, “I never knew how sweet it was to die.” 

The flower-bedecked bed, the little altar with 
candles on it, told of the Divine Guest that had 
been there. 

After a while Madame de Mantelon opened 
her eyes; then for the first time she became 
aware of Lucienne’s presence. 

“Ah, you!” she held out her arms. “How 
good of you to come! I had no time to send 
you word. It was so sudden at the last. But 
my sister thought of you — she did not forget 
you.” 

Madame de Mantelon beckoned feebly to 
Lucienne to approach. She could not speak, 
but her mind was perfectly clear; and she 
smiled sweetly as Lucienne obeyed, and, 
kneeling, kissed the nerveless hand. 


212 


REFINING FIRES 


“Dear, dear friend!” she said, and her voice 
was tremulous with tears. “Pray for me when 
you get to heaven, and pray, too, for those I 
love.” 

There was the faintest movement of assent, 
and then the dying woman looked towards her 
sister. 

“You must not trouble yourself about me, 
my darling!” said Mademoiselle de Roche- 
feuille, speaking low but clearly. “Our 
parting will not be for long.” 

Then there was silence, broken in upon 
by sounds outside. Jose, who had been sum- 
moned while the Last Sacraments were being 
administered, quietly left the room. When he 
returned, he had to lay his hand on Lucienne’s 
arm before he could attract her attention. 

“Monsieur has sent for Madame,” he whis- 
pered. “The footman, who is waiting outside, 
says the message is urgent.” 

Mademoiselle Rochefeuille had roused her- 
self to listen, and, seeing that Lucienne was 
about to answer that she could not leave, she 
interposed. 

“Go, my child!” she said. “It is your duty, 
if your husband needs you. God sent you to 


RUIN 


213 


us; and, remember, your coming has been a 
great consolation.” 

Lucienne took her hands. 

“Promise me,” she said earnestly, “promise 
me here, whilst she can still hear us, that you 
will always let me comfort and help you.” 

“That is an easy promise,” replied Made- 
moiselle de Rochefeuille. “And I give it with 
all my heart. Kiss her,” she added, as 
Lucienne rose to go; and the slight girlish 
figure bent over the bed, and the two sweet 
faces — one old and one young — ^were pressed 
together in a lingering caress. 

“I will come back to-morrow,” whispered 
Lucienne, trying to fight against the conviction 
that this was indeed the last time she should see 
her friend alive. 

Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille repeated the 
word “To-morrow!” whilst Madame de Mante- 
lon, looking upward with a smile, pointed 
silently to heaven. 

On reaching home, Lucienne went straight 
to her husband’s room. He was seated at the 
table, his arms outstretched before him, his head 
resting upon them; but at the sound of the 
opening door he sprang to his feet and came 


214 


REFINING FIRES 


toward her. Distress and anguish were writ- 
ten on either countenance. 

“Do you know, Raoul, that Madame de 
Mantelon is dying? Or has something else 
happened also?” asked Lucienne. 

“The worst 1” groaned Raoul, again covering 
his face with his hands. 

“I — I don’t understand,” stammered Lu- 
cienne. “You said that no change was expected 
in the markets for some days.” 

“True, but this came suddenly, and was 
absolutely unforeseen. Nothing can save us 
now, for the very securities have gone down 
instead of rising.” 

“And it means ruin?” 

“Absolute.” 

Lucienne staggered back as though struck 
by a blow. 

“Will it,” she asked timidly, “will it affect 
you — ^us?” 

“Yes — ^we shall be beggared.” 

“And your parents?” 

“For them, as I have said, it is absolute ruin. 
My father trusted Frederic so implicitly!” 

“Is there any possibility of things being 
arranged without — ” 


RUIN 


215 


“Without disgrace ? No ; it means both ruin 
and dishonour.” Then, suddenly raising his 
voice, he cried aloud in horror and despair: 
“Poor, poor — ^we shall all be poor !” 

“Hush, dear — ^hushl” said Lucienne. “We 
are young; it does not matter so much for us. 
Oh, I cannot bear to think of what it will mean 
to your parents! O Raoul, what can we do 
for them?” 

Raoul groaned aloud. 

“Who broke the news to them?” she asked. 

“I wrote it,” he replied. “I never could 
have told them. It was bad enough having to 
see them afterward.” 

“And Louise?” 

“I wrote to her, too. But for the time being 
she is the best off of us all. She is so taken 
up with that wretched husband of hers, she has 
no time to think of anything else.” 

“O Raoul! And he, poor wretch?” 

“When I got to the Bourse the blow had 
already fallen, and Frederic was raging like 
a madman. Two of his friends helped me, and 
we took him home absolutely by force. At first 
he wanted to brave it out; but when he found 
that I knew about his past, his only idea was — 


216 


REFINING FIRES 


a revolver. Louise can guard him best from 
that.” 

Lucienne made no answer. She thought of 
her own parents now. 

“I must go back to father,” went on Raoul. 
“I promised I would do so, but I had to come 
to you first. I was afraid you might hear it 
from someone else.” 

“How good you are!” Even in her distress 
she smiled at him. “But go now, dear ! Your 
parents must want you. I suppose it is better 
that I, too, should go to them?” 

“No, no! You must rest now; and, besides, 
it would remind them too cruelly of — what is 
past.” 

He got up, meaning to leave her; but sud- 
denly the realisation of the present came so 
forcibly upon him that he paused, clenching his 
hands, and speaking his thoughts angrily and 
aloud: 

“Ruin, ruin! It is too awful, too cruel! 
Everything that makes life worth living swept 
from us at a blow! It is cruel and unjust. 
What have we done to deserve such a punish- 
ment? People speak of Providence — ” 

“Hush, hush, Raoul!” cried Lucienne. 


RUIN 


217 


“Take care of what you are saying ! How often 
did you think of God when you were happy? 
How often did you thank Him for all He gave 
and which He is now taking from you? And 
yet you would murmur because He ceases to 
reward your ingratitude! If you cannot take 
this trial as an expiation, at least do not say 
what I pray — oh, how earnestly I pray it! — 
you may live to repent.” 

Raoul had never seen his wife roused in this 
way before; and, admitting the truth of her 
words, he could not but admire her for speaking 
as she did. For a moment he was silent; then, 
going up to her, he took her hands. 

“So you pray for me, Lucienne?” he said 
gently. “Pray again, then, and pray harder 
than ever. I need it, God help me! God 
forgive meV' 

And, passing from the room, he left her 
alone. ' 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A LEGACY 

Lucienne's parents were seated at breakfast 
on the morning following that on which she! 
had said her last good-bye to Madame de Man- 
telon, when they were interrupted by an 
unexpected visitor. 

“I must apologise for distimbing you at such 
an hour,” began the stranger; “but I hope, 
when you learn my errand, you will forgive 
me. In the first place, I regret to have to 
announce to you the death of Madame de Man- 
telon, which took place yesterday afternoon.” 

Monsieur de Barli turned in questioning 
astonishment to his wife, who, seeing this, 
answered the stranger: 

“It is more than kind of Mademoiselle de 
Rochefeuille — for I presume you come on her 
behalf — to think of us at such a time. Person- 
ally, neither my husband nor myself was 
218 


A LEGACY 


219 


acquainted with the poor lady; but our 
daughter was so fond of her that we are 
sincerely sorry to hear of her death.” 

“The real object of my visit,” went on the 
solicitor, after acknowledging Madame de 
Barli’s courtesies, “is to inform you that your 
name is mentioned in the deceased lady’s will, 
which at her own request was read to-day.” 

“A legacy!” cried Madame de Barli. “Im- 
possible! We did not know the lady.” 

The man of business had by this time 
produced a legal-looking document from his 
pocket, and, unfolding it, he asked if he might 
read it aloud. 

“I, Marie Elisabeth Sophie de Rochefeuille, 
widow of Jean Foulques Langeat, Comte de 
Mantelon de Bouvieres, declare this to be my 
last will and testament. Having learned of the 
heroic charity shown by Madame Raoul Mau- 
voisin, nee Lucienne de Barli, toward Pedro 
Lozares, in forgiving him the injuries he had 
committed against her and her family, and in 
nursing him with her own hands, and wishing 
to testify my admiration for such noble con- 
duct, and my deep affection for the said 


220 


REFINING FIRES 


Lucienne Mauvoisin, I bequeath to her parents. 
Monsieur and Madame de Barli, a sum of 
twelve hundred thousand francs, and I thank 
God for allowing me to be the instrument of 
His Providence.” 

The solicitor folded the paper, and, taking 
off his glasses, said: 

“Madame de Mantelon’s affairs are all in 
order. She had two million francs to dispose 
of, in spite of all she has already spent in char- 
ity; and, as the other legatee is satisfied with 
the terms of the will, and desires that you 
should be paid at once, without the delay usual 
in such cases, the transfer can be affected im- 
mediately. If you will make it convenient to 
call at my office, I shall hand your legacy over 
to you, half in cash and half in securities.” 

As one in a dream. Monsieur de Barli 
listened to the solicitor’s final words, and then 
escorted him to the door. Returning to his 
wife, he found her in tears; but, instead of the 
sorrowful weeping of old, these tears were the 
expression of deep joy. 

“O Prosper,” she cried, “we have been 
wicked and sinful 1 We could not resign our- 


A LEGACY 


221 


selves, and yet see how good God has been to 
us ! It is Lucienne who has earned this bless- 
ing for us.” 

“What does it all mean?” questioned Mon- 
sieur de Barli. “That man says she found him, 
that she knows where he is, that she helped and 
nursed him. I cannot understand.” 

“I know nothing more than what we have 
heard,” replied Madame de Barli. “It is all 
as great a mystery to me as it is to you. One 
thing I do know, and it is that to Lucienne 
alone we owe this God-sent legacy; and there- 
fore, Prosper, we must not — you must not — ' 
refuse her anything she may ask.” 

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Ah, I 
understand! And it is useless to expect such 
a thing of me. There are some oifences that it 
is impossible to forgive.” 

But Madame de Barli, knowing every 
inflection of her husband’s voice, was satisfied 
that Lucienne’s appeal for Pedro Lozares 
would not be made in vain. 


CHAPTER XXV 


A NOTE EEOM LUCIENNE^S FATHER 

Raoul had passed the whole afternoon of 
the fatal day in helping his father to go over 
De Charolles’ accounts, and part of the follow- 
ing morning was spent at the same task. When 
that was completed, they were able to judge 
the full extent of his liabilities. If the creditors 
did not press for immediate payment, these 
would be less than had at first been anticipated. 
With all the money that the Mauvoisin family 
could raise by the advance of their own capital, 
and the sale of jewels, of furniture — of every- 
thing, in fact, but the absolute necessaries of 
life — the deficit barely exceeded the sum of six 
hundred thousand francs. 

Lucienne dared not question Raoul when, 
after his morning’s work, he came home and 
threw himself down beside the hearth. She 
saw despair written on his face; and, as words 
222 


NOTE FROM M. DE BARLI 223 


could do no good, she waited, silent and sym- 
pathetic. 

“Oh, it is hard, hard!” he muttered at last. 
“Our lives are to be wrecked. Everything 
must go, for the want of a sum that could be 
repaid for certain, if we were only given enough 
time. That is really the refinement of cruel 
fate. If we could only raise six hundred 
thousand francs more, the bank need not cease 
payment, a panic would be avoided; and, as 
the securities that we have in hand rose even to 
their original values, we could pay back all that 
is owing. My father and the principal credi- 
tors would then take measures — legal ones if 
necessary — to force De Charolles to do this, 
and so we should be saved. If only I could get 
some of those men to see things as I see them, 
they would save themeslves from losing a single 
franc, if they would advance the siun we need. 
De Charolles has gone too far; no one will 
trust him with another penny; bankruptcy 
must be declared.” 

“When?” asked Lucienne, breathlessly. 

“This very evening, before the Bomse closes 
— ^probably about five o’clock. Well, it is 
eleven now; that leaves six hours of suspense.” 


224 


REFINING FIRES 


“Where are you going?” asked his wife, see- 
ing him preparing to go out. 

“I have an appointment at twelve o’clock,” 
replied Raoul; “and I must see De Charolles 
first. It seems that he wrote a most compromis- 
ing letter, in which he owns having gone to the 
Jews for money — and worse. It is of the 
utmost importance that this should go no fur- 
ther; and, fortunately, the holder of this letter 
is under an obligation to my father, so he has 
promised to give it up to one of us at noon 
to-day.” 

“Then whilst you are gone,” observed 
Lucienne, “I think I ought to go to see your 
mother. I know it will be painful for her to 
see me ; but it is only right that I should go to 
her, and she herself would blame me if I failed 
in my duty.” 

“You are right — I know you are right, 
Lucienne. But — ” 

“Does she hate me so?” asked Lucienne. 

“It is not that, but” — ^he turned his head 
away, and spoke very low — “can’t you see how 
you and yours are being avenged?” 

His head was bowed as he descended the 
stairs and crossed out into the street. At the 


NOTE FROM M. DE BARLI 225 


doorway stood a girl holding a note in her hand, 
and looking uncertainly about her. He did not 
even see her, but passed out, whilst she mounted 
the stairs he had just come down, and knocked 
at the door that he had closed behind him. 

A few moments later, as Raoul was walking 
down the Rue Neuve des Petit-Champs, a car- 
riage passed quickly by, the driver urging his 
horses forward. Mechanically he looked up, 
and to his utter amazement his glance fell on 
the figure of his wife. She was seated beside 
a neatly dressed girl, evidently a servant; and, 
as she was reading a letter, she did not see him. 

The maid, Manette’s successor, had brought 
Lucienne a note — merely a peremptory sum- 
mons from her father, and without a word of 
explanation. She could not imagine what had 
happened, and had it not been for the two 
words, “Come, darling!” which were written 
across the note in her mother’s writing, she, 
would have been torn with anxiety. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A NOBLE REVENGE 

On arriving at the home of her parents, 
Lucienne received a full explanation of all that 
had transpired. She was astonished beyond 
measure on hearing of the legacy. It was hard 
for her father to be reconciled to the part she 
had played in regard to Lozares. 

“How could I have done otherwise,” mur- 
mured Lucienne, appealingly, “and continue 
to say every day, ‘Forgive us our trespasses as 
we forgive those who trespass against us’? But 
I cannot understand how Madame de Mante- 
lon came to leave you a legacy.” 

“It is all owing to your kindness to Lozares,” 
said her mother. “He must have confessed all 
to Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille. Ah, his sins 
have brought their own reward !” 

“If you could see him as I did at first, you 
would indeed say so.” And she told them of 
the condition in which she had found him. 


226 


A NOBLE REVENGE 


227 


In spite of the joy that had come to them, 
the De Barlis felt that there was something 
oppressing Lucienne. 

“There is something troubling you,” said her 
mother. “Lucienne, surely you need not keep 
anything from us now.” 

“Yes, Mother, something is troubling me 
sorely, grievously ; and no one but you can help 
me.” 

“I know,” said her mother, quickly. “You 
are thinking of that wretched man, unforgiven 
still.” 

“No,” replied Lucienne, “not of Pedro now, 
but of your legacy.” 

She knelt down beside her father and threw 
her arms about his neck. 

“Father,” she said, “at five o’clock this even- 
ing De Charolles will be declared bankrupt. 
His affairs and ours are all so implicated that 
it means ruin and disgrace to us all. Oh, their 
misfortune is infinitely greater than ours ever 
was, for it includes dishonour and disgrace! 
We shall give up everything, sell everything of 
value that we possess ; but, even so, for the want 
of six hundred thousand francs, all must be 
lost.” 


228 


REFINING FIRES 


She told of Raoul’s absolute certainty that 
any loan would ultimately be repaid — any loan, 
that is, sufficient to pay off the pressing debt. 
It was not as a gift that she asked the money, 
but as a loan ; and, even though it was to help 
their bitterest enemies, could they refuse their 
daughter what for her sake alone had been 
given to them? 

“Prosper, Prosper!” cried Madame de Barli. 
“How can we refuse her?” 

But even to the double appeal Monsieur de 
Barli was silent. 

“Ruin and dishonour!” went on Madame de 
Barli. “I cannot bear to think of that unhappy 
woman alone now. What must it be to her, so 
haughty, so eaten up with pride ! Lucienne, let 
us go to her; let us tell her we sympathize at 
least — ” 

“Go to her!” broke in Prosper. “You go to 
her! Never! That I will never allow. Let her 
rather come to you.” 

“O Prosper, can you not forgive? Let her 
forget what is past. Remembrance could only 
increase her sufferings. What could bring her 
to me now, the miserable, unhappy woman?” 

The old man took his wife’s frail hand, and. 


A NOBLE REVENGE 


229 


holding it in his own, he stretched the other one 
to Lucienne, saying: 

“I think she will come, and that soon; and 
she will say, ‘Thank you !’ ” 

An hour later, the three who had gone 
through so much that day, who had met sorrow 
and joy, who had struggled with temptation 
and had come forth victorious — together these 
three entered the little house in the Rue d’ Arras 
where their benefactress lay dead. For two of 
them this was their first visit; but Lucienne led 
them straight to the room where only the pre- 
vious day she had heard the words, then not 
understood in their full meaning, “She thought 
of you — she did not forget you,” the room 
where rested all that was mortal of the 
Countess de Mantelon. So still, so peaceful, 
and so beautiful in death — ^nowhere on earth 
could their sacrifice be more fittingly offered to 
God than in the serenity of this presence. And, 
kneeling, they prayed together that the gift 
they were about to make in favour of Raoul’s 
parents might be accepted in heaven in repara- 
tion for the murmurs, the ill feeling, the want 
of resignation in the past. 

Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille had not left 


230 


REFINING FIRES 


her place at her sister’s side; and Lucienne, 
going to her, whispered gently: 

“Dear, dear friend and benefactress, how can 
we ever express a fraction of our gratitude! 
She knows it all now.” 

‘ ‘Ah, Lucienne !” said Mademoiselle de Roche- 
feuille, “she knew that in doing as she has done 
she has given me the greatest comfort, the only 
consolation that such a grief as mine can 
know.” 

She could not restrain her tears, and 
Lucienne wept with her. But before long, 
thoughtful as ever of others, the old lady turned 
to Monsieur de Barli. 

“I want, in the presence of my dear dead 
sister, to ask you one favour,” she said, “a 
favour that our dear Lucienne no doubt will 
ask, but I want to be beforehand with her.” 

“I know what you would say,” replied the 
old man, brokenly. “But you need not ask it, 
for it is granted already. As a personal favour, 
I will beg of Lucienne to take me to-day to 
Lozares.” 

Scarcely had he spoken when Lucienne rose 
from her knees. 

“Dear Father, later I will most gladly do as 


A NOBLE REVENGE 


231 


you ask, but now I have another task before 
me. I must go — I must tear myself away. If 
she could speak, she would tell me to do so ; and 
so would you. Mademoiselle, if you knew the 
full extent of your — of her generosity. It is 
not for Lozares alone that it wins forgiveness: 
it means salvation, peace, and reconciliation to 
all my family — to my own as well as to Raoul’s. 
I cannot, dare not, delay the Heaven-sent mes- 
sage.” 

“Go, then; and God be with youl” said 
Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille. 

Bending over the still form, Lucienne 
pressed her lips for the last time on the inani- 
mate brow of her benefactress; and, with a 
long-drawn embrace from Mademoiselle de 
Rochefeuille, and a whispered word to her 
mother, she left the room. 

Again an hour passed by, and Raoul had 
learned the whole — ^the astounding end of all 
these mysteries. The offering of the de Barlis 
had been made through their daughter’s hand; 
and, in humiliation and gratitude, had been 
accepted. 

Then together Raoul and Lucienne ascended 
the stairs of the house in the Rue Lafayette 


232 


REFINING FIRES 


that only a year ago we saw her for the first 
time ascending, alone and so unhappy. 
Madame de Mauvoisin sat in her drawing- 
room, so soon — as she thought — to be dis- 
mantled; but as yet nothing was changed in it. 
It was just as it had been when we last saw it 
twelve long months ago. But she herself — ah, 
what a change was to be seen in her — stricken 
to the earth, bowed down, crushed with shame ! 

Very gently Raoul asked if Lucienne might 
come in, as she had something of importance to 
tell her. 

“Lucienne?” repeated his mother, with tears 
in her eyes. “Yes, let her come, if she wishes. 
But what can she have to say to me? Ah, 
Raoul, she is an angel 1 Let her come to me. 
I know she is too good, too noble, to rejoice. 
Yet how she and hers have been avenged!” 

And Lucienne, coming in, broke to her 
mother-in-law the form her vengeance had 
taken. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


TWELYE MONTHS LATER 

A YEAR had passed by. Madame Mauvoisin 
was again at home to her friends, and despite 
all that the last twelve months had brought 
about there was little change to be seen in the 
luxury of the salon; indeed, it was even more 
richly decorated than on the day we first saw 
Lucienne entering it, for in the Church cal- 
endar the feast of St. Teresa was recorded, and 
the great Spanish mystic was Madame Mau- 
voisin’s patroness, so that the fifteenth of 
October brought a profusion of flowers from 
her friends wherewith to deck her apartment. 
It was hard to believe that the summer was 
over, that the grey days of November were 
nearer than the sunshine of June, which surely 
must have been needed to produce the varying 
tints of the bouquets with which every avail- 
able space was laden. 


233 


234 


REFINING FIRES 


It was a long established custom that the 
givers of these birthday offerings should be in- 
vited to dinner to pay their respects in person 
to St. Teresa’s namesake, and this year was to 
be no exception to its predecessors. 

The usual invitations had been sent out and 
accepted with alacrity, for misfortune, which 
the poet says disperses our friends and leaves 
us solitary, had not overshadowed the Mauvoi- 
sins for long enough to have this effect, and 
their circle of acquaintances had not dimin- 
ished. 

Yet sorrow had not darkened the threshold 
without leaving some traces after it. There 
had been a moment when it seemed about to 
engulf everything in the dark abyss of ruin and 
dishonour; but a firm hand had held it back — 
the strong hand of a brave woman, and it had 
been forced to fly away. 

Yet nothing had changed in Madame Mau- 
voisin’s surroundings. The enforced sale that 
would have deprived her of all her valuables 
had not, after all, to take place, for if his par- 
ents had been ruined Raoul would have had to 
share in that ruin. In spite of his wife’s 
generosity he would have had to sell what his 


TWELVE MONTHS LATER 235 


father had given him to lessen, as far as he 
could, their load of debt. But M. and Madame 
de Barli were determined that Lucienne’s home 
should remain intact, and as the surest way of 
securing this end they had advanced two hun- 
dred thousand francs more than they had at 
first agreed to lend, in Lucienne’s name, to save 
the credit of her husband’s family. 

Only one thing was missing from amongst 
the collection of ornaments that decorated 
Madame Mauvoisin’s salon, and that was a 
small marble vase, not apparently of much 
intrinsic value, and not very noticeable amongst 
others that were more valuable and more artis- 
tic. But the marble vase had a history attached 
to it that made it a unique souvenir. 

It had belonged to St. Francis of Sales, who 
had given it to one of the magistrates of An- 
necy when he was Bishop there, and it had 
eventually come into the possession of M. Mau- 
voisin’s great uncle, who had left it in his will 
to his great nephew, who, without much feeling 
of attachment to it himself, realised the value 
is might be to others, and fully approved when 
his wife took it from its place and proposed 
giving it to Madame de Barli. 


236 


REFINING FIRES 


The offering was Madame Mauvoisin’s 
apology for the past — ^her request for pardon, 
and it was accepted with a single word of 
thanks; but that word was accompanied by a 
smile and a pressure of the hand that showed 
full understanding, full pardon, and surely 
St. Francis, the Peacemaker, must have smiled 
if he saw from Heaven the offering of his vase 
and its acceptance. 

So much for Madame Mauvoisin’s surround- 
ings. If they were not much changed, she 
herself was little more so. She was one of those 
people who are like trees in a storm that the 
wind bends nearly to the ground, but when the 
storm passes by they rise up as straight as ever, 
having suffered no further loss than that of a 
few superfluous leaves. 

Nevertheless, the storm of misfortvme had 
left two lasting changes in Madame Mau- 
voisin’s feelings. In the first place, Lucienne 
had become in her eyes a sort of idol. Her 
name was never mentioned without a flow of 
praise, and she was placed altogether on a ped- 
estal, as something too precious and perfect for 
contamination with others. 

As far as the object of this sort of worship 


TWELVE MONTHS LATER 237 


was concerned, she was truly glad that her 
mother-in-law approved of her and admired 
her, but she would far sooner have simply been 
loved and treated as a daughter. Had that 
been the case she might have been able to in- 
fluence her mother-in-law to help her to look 
beyond and above the trifles of daily life; but 
as yet Madame Mauvoisin felt no need for such 
help as Lucienne longed to give her. Misfor- 
tune might have taught it to her, but as it was 
she would go on through life without knowing 
what was wanting to make her really happy, 
till perhaps the weaknesses, the impotence of 
old age would open her eyes at last. 

The other change was in her feelings towards 
her son-in-law. It was as though Lucienne and 
M. de Charolles had taken each other’s place 
in the heart of their mother-in-law. She was 
not only furiously angry with him, but she had 
also been so profoundly humiliated that her 
every thought of him was tinged with bitter- 
ness, with contempt and aversion. For the 
sake, however, of Louise and the children there 
had been no open break between the two 
families, for it had been decided that the public 
need never know the whole story of what had 


^38 


REFINING FIRES 


happened. So the Baron de Charolles was to 
be one of the guests for whom M. and Madame 
Mauvoisin were waiting. Raoul’s father had 
suffered more than his mother had done, and 
those awful days with the revelations and the 
remorse that they brought with them had left 
their traces on the once grey head that now 
was white as snow, on the bending of the for- 
merly upright figure, and the deep lines on 
brow and lip. 

In the dim light cast by the rose-tinted 
shades in the drawing-room these changes were 
not so apparent as they were in the full blaze 
of the dining-room table. Here Madame de 
Barli sat at the right of her host, and she had 
altered perhaps as much as he, but in a very 
different way. Happiness is the best doctor in 
the world, and it had done its work in this case 
so well that, with the remembrance of what 
Madame de Barli had been, one could hardly 
now recognise her. Hers was the face of a 
woman who had come through suffering to 
peace, but it was the peace that was the upper- 
most. There was only one regret in her heart, 
which was that she and her husband had not 
made better use of their adversity, that they 


TWELVE MONTHS LATER 239 


had not been more resigned to the will of God, 
who had been so good to them. 

If M. Mauvoisin had aged by twenty years, 
M. de Barli had become almost as much 
younger. The bitterness and irritability that 
poverty and misfortune had produced had dis- 
appeared, and he had become once more the 
brilliant conversationalist, the alert man of the 
world who had formerly been so universally 
sought after in society at Poitiers. 

Further down the table there was another 
familiar face — or was it not only the ghost of 
the once honoured guest whose presence was 
now barely tolerated, and that only for the 
sake of his wife? M. de Charolles was eating 
his heart out — anyone who looked at hi m 
closely could see that. Yet he showed a bold 
front to the world still. He held his head high, 
and woe betide any man who would dare to 
hint, in his presence, that he was not the suc- 
cessful financier that he had always been known 
to be. He had been obliged to submit to the 
terms that Raoul dictated, and though he 
continued his operations on the Stock Ex- 
change apparently as he did before, he had to 
render an account of each separate deal to the 


240 


REFINING FIRES 


secret committee that had been appointed to 
watch him. His financial genius had not been 
at fault when he declared if he could only tide 
over a certain span of time that he would be 
richer than ever before. The turn of the tide 
had come, and thanks to the De Barli’s loan it 
had not come too late. But as yet De Charolles 
himself had been at no profit from it. The first 
thing that had to be done was to repay the De 
Barli’s loan, and when that was done there were 
other creditors to be satisfied before the Mau- 
voisin’s own affairs could be put on a safe and 
sure basis. M. Mauvoisin had had enough of 
speculation. All he asked now was a secure, if 
somewhat diminished, income from reliable 
investments. All this took time to arrange, and 
when it was done the Baron was to be obliged 
to put the final most humiliating touch to his 
enforced reparation. Louise had promised her 
parents that she would insist upon having her 
own fortune, as well as the sum that had been 
settled upon the children, paid into the hands 
of trustees, and tied up so that what ever the 
future might bring, the husband and father 
would have no power to touch it. His passion 
for gambling had shown itself to be too strong 


TWELVE MONTHS LATER 241 


for anyone who knew of it ever to trust him 
again. A gambler and with no sense of honour ! 
And he was her husband, the father of her 
children. Poor Louise, she was indeed the one 
who was the most to be pitied. In her own 
shallow way she had loved the man, and she had 
been inordinately proud of him. And now 
where was her love ? Swept away by the knowl- 
edge of what he really was, whilst her pride had 
been humbled to the very dust. 

In the first agony of these revelations she 
had turned to her mother for comfort and sym- 
pathy, and what had she found? Sympathy 
certainly, but sympathy that only found 
expression in furious abuse of the author of all 
this evil. She could not listen to her parents’ 
tirades against the man whom they openly 
wished to see punished to the full extent of the 
law, from whom their hands were only held 
back not by any thought of Christian forbear- 
ance or religion, but by worldly prudence, by 
what was politic and seemly. 

She could not love her husband, she could not 
honour him; but at least she could be loyal to 
him, and her parents’ attitude towards him was 
more than she could bear. Instead of finding 


242 ' 


REFINING FIRES 


comfort at her mother’s side she found her 
sorrow increased, and she shrank back into her- 
self, feeling that all the world was against her. 
There was only one person whom she knew felt 
any real sympathy for her, and, remembering 
the past, she dared not now turn to her; but 
when they met, Lucienne was so gentle, so 
understanding that, at first timidly, later, with 
more assurance, Louise went to her, and from 
Lucienne her sister-in-law learnt the only way 
to bear humiliation and suffering. 

The day after Madame Mauvoisin’s feast 
brought round another anniversary, but of a 
very different nature. It was a year since 
Madame de Mantelon had died, and, although 
Mademoiselle de Rochefeuille had asked to be 
left quite alone on that day, Lucienne and her 
parents were with her in spirit, and shared some 
of her sorrowful memories. The old lady had 
nothing now to bind her to this world; she was 
only waiting the summons to join her own in 
the Kingdom of God, and in the meantime she 
worked on for others with all the strength that 
her life of eighty years had left her, gladly 
accepting the help that not only Lucienne, but 
Raoul also, and Madame de Barli, offered her. 


TWELVE MONTHS LATER 243 


and finding pleasure in their company, 
although nothing could make up to her for the 
one who had gone before. 

On Madame de Mantelon’s anniversary a 
Requiem Mass was to be celebrated at Notre 
Dame des Victoires, and the De Barlis, with 
Raoul and Lucienne, were amongst the first to 
take their places in the church. As she knelt 
again in the place where only a year ago she 
had begged for strength to forgive Lozares, 
to go back to him with spiritual and corporal 
works of mercy, she could not help thinking of 
all the answer to that prayer had brought to 
her. God had not only given her the strength 
she had asked for, but He had also bestowed a 
reward of which she had never dreamt. Of 
herself, she could not have gone back to that 
loathsome criminal, but if she had not had the 
will to do right, if she had turned a deaf ear to 
the interior voice which told her that there is 
no true Christianity in a heart which of which 
she had never dreamed. If she had not asked 
for help and strength, and had she abandoned 
Lozares, what would have been the conse- 
quences? Would he not have died in despair, 
and have gone before his Maker with an un- 


244 


REFINING FIRES 


pardonable sin upon his soul — that soul which 
in all probability would have gone to the devil 
for ever? 

And she herself — ^what would she not have 
lost? As the events of the past months came 
crowding over her she could only raise her heart 
to God in speechless thanks, and in her con- 
templation of His goodness temporal things 
were for the moment forgotten. 

At the sound of the Communion bell, M. and 
Madame de Barli rose and knelt at the altar 
rail, to be followed by Lucienne, and she was 
not alone. Raoul was with her, and it was this 
— this above all the other favours that Heaven 
had bestowed upon her, that Lucienne held the 
greatest. Misfortune had taught Raoul not 
only to recognise and honour the source of his 
wife’s goodness, but also to imitate her in seek- 
ing it. There had been no time for religion in 
his old careless life, for he was taken up by the 
pursuit of pleasure. Now, when he had his 
father’s business, as well as the social and 
philanthropic works in which Mademoiselle de 
Rochefeuille’s friends had welcomed his co- 
operation, to occupy his days, still there was 
time for Mass, time for daily prayers, time for 


TWELVE MONTHS LATER 245 


the Sacraments ; and though he was no longer 
to be seen lounging about the clubs, his sport- 
ing friends found him as ready as ever for a 
day’s shooting or a week-end’s fishing, provided 
in the latter case that Sunday’s Mass was not 
neglected. 

When the Requiem was over Raoul and 
Lucienne went back to breakfast with Madame 
de Barli, not in the sad surroundings of a few 
months ago, but in a bright, sunny apartment 
in the Rue Taitbout, almost opposite their 
daughter’s home. It was a quiet meal, for the 
remembrance of all that this last year had 
brought was over them all; such things bring 
is akin to awe. Afterwards they went together 
with them a thankfulness that, though joyful, 
to the cemetery of Pere la Chaise, to take the 
only gift — excepting prayers — ^that they could 
offer to their benefactress — to lay a wreath of 
flowers upon her tomb. 

It was surrounded by a low railing, but 
to-day the gate was open, and entering the little 
enclosure they knelt before the headstone 
which, under a graven coat-of-arms, bore a 
short inscription: — 

“Here lies the body of Marie Elisabeth 


246 


REFINING FIRES 


Sophie de Rochefeuille, Comtesse de Mantelon 
de Bouvieres, who died on October 16, 19 — 
Blessed are they who die in the Lord, for their 
works follow them.” 

“But their effects remain,” murmured Raoul. 

“And their example also,” added Lucienne. 

When their prayers were said they passed 
out of the enclosure, but Lucienne still had a 
small wreath in her hand, and they did not 
leave the cemetery at once. 

In a distant corner, shaded by shrubs and 
trees, stood a grave with a plain cross at its 
head, on which five words were inscribed. 

“Pedro Lozares,” and under the name: 
“Requiescat in Pace.” 

Five months ago Pedro Lozares had died. 
His sufferings had increased, but he had borne 
all so patiently that surely now he was resting 
in peace. In the end death had come merci- 
fully. M. de Barli was kneeling by him, and 
it was his hand who closed his eyes, whilst 
Lucienne still held to the already stiffening 
lips the Crucifix that he had clung to, to the 
last, that was his tangible token of hope and 
forgiveness. 

The End 


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